The World Is Your Burden
by corsairr
Summary: The crown rests upon Ulfric's head and the Dragonborn's sword rests upon the World-Eater's gut, but this war is far from over. Forces of evil and forces of the heart are just the beginning of the dark path winding ahead of High King Ulfric Stormcloak and Dragonborn Thorunn Stormblade.
1. The High King

_War does not determine who is right, only who is left. -Bertrand Russell_

Slash not stab, frontward attack, block, shield bash, backward attack, step, rinse and repeat.

Thorunn bellowed a battle cry, mauling an Imperial to death by repeatedly pummeling her iron shield into his face. Her battle-honed senses could feel someone coming up on her six. She whirled around, jumping to her feet and around just in time to meet the sword of another Imperial with her shield. She used her free hand to swing her axe around it and into the gut of the enemy. With a sickening splatter of flesh and blood, he recoiled and fell to the ground as Thorunn yanked her axe free.

She kept marching, sulkily searching for her next target. Men in blue armor fell around her almost as much as men in red armor were, but she did not slow down for them. The ringing clash of steel on steel, thundering pound of shield on shield, the snarling and cries of men as the battleground became slick with gore; this was a scene as familiar to Thorunn as the back of her hand. Flames licked the stone walls of the buildings enclosed the city of Solitude, Skyrim's capital. Masonry and rubble rocked loose from being plunged with slinged boulders, adding to the piles of dead bodies both soldier and civilian alike.

The Stormcloaks were ruthless. They were mean, aggressive, violent, and merciless; but these traits were what made a Nord. The Imperials were fools to ever underestimate them.

The steady beat of war drums rhythmatized the gruesome sounds of battle. Thorunn glanced around for the soon-to-be High King, finding him just beyond Galmar Stone-Fist, hashing and thrashing his axes and using the Voice to fell his foes. Galmar slugged his two-handed greatsword powerfully enough to have his enemies trembling and stumbling for an easier target.

It wasn't fair for them to be having fun without her, so Thorunn readied her shield in front of her to block any incoming arrows and held her axe up, ready to plunge into anyone unlucky enough to get in her way. There were always fools in war and she ended up taking out three more Imperials during her siege.

Reaching Galmar's side, she exchanged a curt nod and a crooked victorious grin with him before sidestepping to his six. The two of them had naturally developed a strategy when fighting together: Galmar on the right, Thorunn on the left, back-to-back and unstoppable. With him being a two-handed warrior, he had no efficient way to block any attacks coming from the rear. Thorunn made up for it, being a shield maiden.

There was a roar of thunder as Ulfric Shouted someone into an ice capsule. The ground shook beneath Thorunn's steel boots, catching her off guard and rocking her balance. She caught it just in time to clash her axe with the sword of an Imperial. Thorunn had the advantage; the Imperials had a steadily decreasing morale, and this guy's movements were sloppy and poorly executed, lanced with a sense of hopelessness. Thorunn handled him effortlessly, swinging her axe at him until she had him backed against a wall and trembling just before she delivered the killing blow to his throat.

She hurled her shield around, bashing into an enemy that had foolishly thought they had the jump on her. The Imperial stumbled back and fell to her knees, bringing her sword up to block the blow Thorunn had been aiming to punish. Thorunn brought her shield up beneath the woman's arm to force it out of her way, then hacked her axe into the Imperial's gut.

There was a horn. Thorunn ceased fighting immediately, head snapping to attention. Ulfric had been the culprit. He blowed thrice more, one after the other, its message quick and simple. The Stormcloaks resumed their battle, but Galmar and Thorunn did not. They strategically retreated to Ulfric's side, providing back up while he marched to the gates of the Blue Palace.

He jerked his axe towards the barricades. "Break it down."

Thorunn and Galmar obliged eagerly. They charged forth and mindlessly bludgeoned their respective weapons into the barricade. It was a fairly good way of relieving stress, if Thorunn was being honest. If she had the opportunity, she'd thrash her weapon into a barricade all day. But all good things must come to an end, and it wasn't long before the gates collapsed under the power of Galmar's greatsword and Thorunn's axe.

The two of them waited for the High King to reach their middle before proceeding, stepping over the pile of saw dust and broken wood. The courtyard was surprisingly cleared. Thorunn guessed they'd spent all their men trying to fend off the Stormcloaks in the bulk of the city, thinking that they wouldn't need to guard the palace if they got that far.

But not even Imperials were stupid enough to leave the heart of their city unguarded. Two Imperials stood on either side of the doors, weapons drawn, waiting for Ulfric and his entourage to meet them.

Meet them they did. Ulfric gave Thorunn a nod, the nod that gave her freedom to take the reins of the Voice. She quickly decided which Shout she wanted to deploy. While Galmar and Ulfric distracted the guards, she got off to the side to give her a decent angle. Imperials started pouring into the broken-down gates, realizing too late just how fragile their chances of victory were. Stormcloaks followed right after them with weapons raised and voices bellowing.

With the threat of losing, the Imperials fought harder than ever. Nobody forgot that the Empire was once the pride and joy of Skyrim, which meant they were all seasoned fighters, even if their hearts were in the wrong place. Thorunn may not have relished in the idea of killing her kinsmen, but they'd made their choice and they'd signed their death wishes. Just as the Stormcloaks had.

There were more important things to worry about now than morality, like the fact that Stormcloaks were falling left and right at the hands of the Imperials. They'd been battling for over sixteen hours. The Imperials just kept coming, reinforcements after reinforcements, and even the esteemed Dragonborn whose entire life was defined by the blood she spilled gets exhausted.

They'd need something more powerful than will.

Thorunn tensed her shoulders and opened her mouth. She reached deep into her essence, pulling out the dovah that resided within and projecting it into her stentorian Thu'um. " _O-dah-viing!_ " she Shouted, thunder racking the walls and unsettling the ground as her voice traveled to the sky and kissed the clouds.

Mere seconds passed before the ginormous winged silhouette flew overhead. The powerful jaws of the dragon opened as he roared, diving down in one fluid, graceful sweep to make sure the Dragonborn knew he had answered her call.

"Clear the way! Clear the way!" Thorunn bellowed.

The Stormcloaks started falling back. They'd fought with Thorunn enough times to know what she was doing, and their first instinct was to block the exit of the courtyard to prevent any Imperials from fleeing.

"Shield wall!" Ulfric bellowed, his deep voice carrying much better than Thorunn's.

The Stormcloaks gathering at the gateway knelt down and brought their shields up to cover their bodies and block out the fire that was about to wreak havoc. Thorunn scanned her eyes over the vicininty, making sure not a lick of blue was able to be seen among the gathering chaos. She waited until Ulfric and Galmar were out of range before signaling the dragon above.

"Odahviing, _nu!_ " she ordered.

The mighty dragon dived into the city in a rush. As his ragged wings swooped the ground, they left an overwhelming gust of air in their midst, which was hard enough to stand against. Next came the breath of the dov. Odahviing inhaled air and exhaled fire, painting the ground with his deadly Thu'um. The courtyard, previously shrouded in the darkness of evening, lit up with bright orange and gold hues. The screams of men coated in fire pierced Thorunn's ears.

It was over as soon as it began. After making his swoop, Odahviing took to the skies again, disappearing into the clouds. Thorunn regarded him fondly as he vanished. The two of them had met under very tense circumstances- she had him chained to the outpost of a palace in Whiterun, and dragons do not like being chained -but now, any ill will they once had for one another might as well have never happened. Odahviing was always there to heed her call, and she was always there to heed his.

The Stormcloaks who'd been taking cover behind their shield wall gradually lowered their shields and came to. They started filing into the courtyard, avoiding the spots thick with flame.

Ulfric approached the center. "This is it, men!" he began. "It's time to make this city ours! We come to this moment carried by the sacrifices and the courage of our fellows. Those who have fallen, and those still bearing the shields to our right. On this day, our enemy will witness the fullness of our determination, the true depth of our anger and the exhalted righteousness of our cause. The gods are watching. The spirits of our ancestors are stirring. And the men under suns yet to dawn will be transformed by what we do here today. Fear neither pain, nor darkness.

"For Sovngarde awaits those who die with weapons in their hands, and courage in their hearts. We now fight our way to Castle Dour to cut the head off the legion itself! And in that moment, the gods will look down and see Skyrim as she was meant to be. Full of Nords who are mighty, powerful, and free! Ready now! Everyone, with me! For the sons and daughters of Skyrim!"

A deafening roar of cheers pierced the smoky air. The smell of burning flesh assaulted Thorunn's nostrils, but she remained respectfully quiet at Ulfric's side. This smell was nothing she wasn't already accustomed to. The Stormcloaks started pounding the hilts of their weapons on their shields, matching each other's time perfectly. It was eery background noise for Ulfric, Galmar, and Thorunn to pry the door of Castle Dour open and enter at their own will.

When the door shut behind them, the war drums, the pounding, and the cheers all came to a strange cease. General Tullius was standing with his sword drawn, Legate Rikke at his side.

There was no semblance of chance for a surrender, Thorunn thought as she watched the look on Tullius's face transform from anger to raw rage. "Let us put an end to this, Ulfric." he spat between gritted teeth.

Ulfric drew his axe quite calmly. Galmar and Thorunn had never put their weapons away to begin with. "Secure the door," he ordered Galmar.

"Already done," assured Galmar.

Rikke was next to speak, her jaw clenched and her shoulders tense. "Ulfric. Stop."

Ulfric scoffed. "Stop what?" he retorted. "Taking Skyrim back from those who'd leave her to rot?" It was no secret that General Tullius held no fondness for Skyrim. He cared only for his Empire and their prosper. He had no business claiming a presence in Skyrim.

"You're wrong, Ulfric," said Rikke. There was an odd sadness in her voice. "We need the Empire. Without it, Skyrim will assuredly fall to the Dominion."

"You were there with us. You saw it. The day the Empire signed that damned treaty was the day the Empire died." snarled Galmar Stone-Fist.

"The Empire is weak, obsolete," Ulfric added, so sure of himself. "Look at how far we've come and with so little. When we're done rooting out Imperial influence here at home, then we will take our war to the Aldmeri Dominion."

Rikke shook her head. "You're a damn fool." she gritted.

"Stand aside, woman," Galmar ordered, taking a threatening step forward. "We've come for the general."

"He has given up," said Rikke, gathering her courage, "but I have not."

"Rikke, go. You're free to leave." Ulfric clearly did not want this woman's blood, which piqued Thorunn's curiosity. Very rarely did he relay mercy on his foes, though he did display a certain thoughtfulness. But towards the Imperials? Never.

"I'm also free to stay and fight for what I believe." retorted Rikke, her words spitting like venom.

"You're also free to die for it."

The Legate lost her temper. "This is what you wanted? Shield brothers and sisters killing each other? Families torn apart? This is the Skyrim you wanted?" From behind Ulfric, Thorunn growled beneath her breath and began to charge when Ulfric calmly held up a hand to stop her.

"Damn it, woman, _stand aside!_ " Galmar commanded, but this time his command was half a plea.

"That's not the Skyrim I want to live in," she added darkly.

"Rikke," Ulfric reasoned, "you don't have to do this."

"You've left me no choice... Talos preserve us." And with that, the dance ensued.

Thorunn went straight for Rikke, while Ulfric and Galmar went for Tullius. Her shield clashed with Rikke's and Thorunn dug her heels into the ground to prevent her balance from off-setting with the pressure Rikke was applying. The two women pushed against one another with their shields, a raw battle between nothing but strength.

In the end, Thorunn won. She took her shield and pulled it back just slightly enough to get Rikke to stumble, then finished her off by bashing her shield thrice into hers. Rikke trampled backwards, clashing into the wall with a piercing nails-against-chalkboard noise thanks to the steel in her armor and the stone in the walls.

Thorunn held her shield up to cover her side while she advanced on Rikke with her axe. Rikke's sword stopped it from getting much further than a foot away from her chest. She swung her sword aside while it was hooked with Thorunn's axe, and Thorunn lost her grip and ended up disarmed.

Thorunn eluded an incoming blow with her shield. While Rikke's sword was still connected with the shield, Thorunn thrust it upwards, then down into Rikke's gut. She grunted with pain, stumbling once more, tripping over her own foot, and falling to her knees. By the look in her eyes, she knew it was all over, but she kept fighting. She went to bring her sword up when Thorunn wrenched it free from her hand.

Thorunn used the woman's own sword to kill her, plunging it into her chest. The last emotion to fill Rikke's eyes was resignation, and Thorunn used her foot to push her off the sword, freeing it. She tossed it aside and picked her axe back up.

Ulfric had a wound in his side. Galmar had a gash streaking across his face. And most importantly, Tullius looked generally unscathed. Anger rising in the pit of her stomach, Thorunn charged forward, using all of her strength to pummel her shield into the back of Tullius then giving her axe a round. Tullius let out a cry of pain as blood spurted from the wound in his back, spreading and staining his armor with crimson red liquid.

Ulfric took advantage of the setback and hooked his axe into Tullius's throat.

There was a moment of silence as the weight sunk in. A squelching sound echoed through the room as Ulfric removed his axe, and Tullius's body fell limply to the ground. Ulfric's eyes passed from the two dead bodies, to Galmar, then to Thorunn.

Then he smiled, and Thorunn smiled, and Galmar smiled.

"Looks like a new High King sits upon Skyrim's throne," said Galmar.


	2. Gratitude

"...not only did I kill the sabertooth tiger, I used its ribs to pick my teeth and its canines to sharpen the axe I killed it with," Thorunn retorted. She was lounging in the chair of the Winking Skeever tavern, feet propped up on the table and a mug of ale in her hand.

Aela's eyes narrowed. "There's no way... You're just yanking me around again, aren't you?"

Thorunn laughed, mostly due to the alcohol making her tipsy. "That sabertooth kicked my ass. I was at the healer for two weeks."

Aela joined in on the laughter, then. Though she'd won the round and wasn't required to take a drink, she still took a long drawl of her mug. She'd been around the outskirts of Solitude taking care of a bear that got too close to the farms. Naturally, the first thing she and Thorunn did upon seeing each other was host a drinking game at the nearest tavern.

"How long are you going to be in Solitude?" inquired Aela once her laughter had subsided.

Thorunn traced her thumb around the rim of her mug, giving it some thought. Ulfric didn't need her at his side. That was Galmar's job. And since the Stormcloaks' position was nearly secured, there was no reason for her to remain here. "I don't know," she answered honestly. "Might take the road again soon. I hear talk of a Dawnguard." She had no interest in persuing Daedra, but with Alduin slain, the rightful High King on the throne, and the Companions at rest, there wasn't much else to do.

"You're aware you and I, in all technicality, are Daedra, right?" Aela raised her eyebrows.

Thorunn laughed, weaker this time. "The irony can provide some comic relief. I don't know. Too young to settle down, too old to safely assume a drinking problem." She looked down at her mug. "I swear, this is the first drink I've had in three months."

"Mhm," Aela didn't sound convinced. She held an amused smile.

The doors to the Winking Skeever opened and Thorunn looked over her shoulder to see who was entering. Judging by the cowl and the bundle of letters bunched into a sash around his shoulder, she guessed he was a courier. And he was heading for her.

"Letter for you, ma'am," he said, handing her a roll of parchment. The royal seal was wrapped around its midcenter.

Brows furrowing, Thorunn unrolled the parchment.

 _Stormblade,_

 _Words cannot express how grateful I am for your assistance in the siege on Solitude, which is why I am formally inviting you to meet me in the Blue Palace for an official thank you. Please come as soon as you are able._

 _Ulfric Stormcloak_

"What is it?" asked Aela, peering over the table in an attempt to see the letter's contents.

"A letter from the king," She never thought she'd speak those words with as much casually as she did. She got to her feet, leaving her mug behind. "I better see what he wants. Good to see you, Aela, and Talos be with you on your way back to Whiterun."

"Same to you, Shield-Sister." She nodded dismissively, and Thorunn took her leave.

Civilians regarded her fondly as she passed. Some of the guards bowed their head, some of them went as far as to kneel, others in red armor looked at her with scorn. Imperials who swore fealty were allowed to remain in the city to guard, but nothing more. She ignored them all in her trek to the Blue Palace.

Perhaps it was unprofessional to make a visit to the king wearing blood-stained armor, a dented shield, and a chipped axe, but she did the best she could, and Ulfric understood that. The two of them were more than comrades-in-arms, anyway. More than friends, even, and she happened to be the only person in Tamriel that could say that.

There was no romance in their relationship, of course. No emotional commitment, no strings attached, nothing that could cause any harm to either of their hearts. Between the sheets, they were equals. Neither of them left the bedroom without an equal amount of scratches, lovebites, and bruises from tight gripping. No matter how expensive the crown on Ulfric's head became, that would never change.

Thorunn opened the door to the Blue Palace, ignoring the guards who requested identification. She strode inside and up the staircase into the throne room, where she found Ulfric slouching in his throne with the smuggest of smirks on his lips. Galmar was at his side, looking almost as smugly.

Thorunn approached Ulfric, holding up the roll of parchment. "You summoned me?"

"That I did," he said. He stood, straightening his shoulders. He looked very kingly. "There is news of a dragon nearby. Near enough to be a threat to the city, in fact."

Thorunn tensed. She never did like killing dragons. She had a feeling this summons would be asking her to do just that. "And?" she prompted.

"I want to slay this dragon at your side."

Even Galmar was taken aback. She stared at him, mouth slightly agape. There was a long pause, and Ulfric waited patiently for Thorunn's response. Finally, she cleared her throat. "Why, exactly, would you want to go with me? Is there something significant about this dragon?"

"There is something significant about every dragon," He took a step forward, clasping his hands behind his back. "The most important being that they are becoming a natural part of Skyrim. As Skyrim's High King, it would be negligent of me not to explore even its most dangerous attractions."

She blinked.

He smiled. "Thorunn, will you assist me in this endeavor, or leave me to the wolves?"

Dragons could only be slain by the Dragonborn, which happened to be her. They were almost impossible to slay alone, on top of that, and if she knew anything about Ulfric, it was that he was one determined fuck. If he wanted to slay a dragon, he'd slay a dragon, even if it was a promise of death.

She clenched her jaw. "Alright, Ulfric."

"Good. Galmar will be coming with us as well. This dragon is located at Freedom's Redoubt, a peak of mountain just East of the stables. We will set out at dawn. You are okay with this?"

"Yup."

"Excellent. Now, there is another matter that I'd prefer to discuss within the confines of my private quarters, which have been a mass improvement from the stiff beds in Windhelm." He winked and nodded his head to the side.

Thorunn's lips twitched into a smirk and she followed him out of the throne room and into the living quarters. Once they were behind a closed door, safely out of reach and earshot of the common folk, he turned to face her and grasped her hand, smiling.

He started walking backwards, and she willingly followed. "Tell me about the dragons."

A staircase approached from behind, and on point, he spun around to ascend them, still grasping Thorunn's hand. She watched the back of his head. "They're... ferocious." There was no way to cram such a complex creature into a couple choice words. "There's different kinds of dragons, some stronger than others."

He opened the door to his quarters, guiding her inside then shutting the door behind them. "What kind of dragon would you place me at?" He started working the buckles of her steel armor.

She looked at him inquisitively, ignoring his hands. She picked up on what he was getting at and she smiled, bemused. "Legendary," she mumbled, then placed her finger on his chin and tilted his head up, wasting not a second more before locking their lips together.

She took the lead, as she usually did, and grasped his tunic. She turned them around and shoved him onto the bed, straddling his waist. Only then did she disconnect their lips and start working at the laces of his tunic. He watched her with a crooked grin, blond hair disheveled.

"Eager, are you?" he commented.

She grunted in acknowledgement. Finishing with the laces of his tunic, he sat up so she could pull it over his head, revealing the toned and thick muscles lining his stomach. Nordic tattoos decorated his chest and arms, too intricately designed for Thorunn to pay attention to while he demanded her attention elsewhere.

Within the next five minutes, they found their selves completely devoid of clothing and, in Thorunn's case, armor. She spent the rest of the night letting her mind be driven by movement; it was all skin and nails and teeth and lips thereon.

When she collapsed to his side, both of them having finished three times over, he snaked his arm around her waist and sighed with content as the last heavy breaths left his body. He ran his hands along her skin. "Goodnight, Thorunn."


	3. The Beginning

They were up and about the moment the sun touched the horizon. Fittingly, Thorunn wore her steel plate set of armor. She'd chosen to wield Ysgramor's shield, Ebony war axe, and as a backup weapon, the two-handed battleaxe Wuuthrad. They were the best weapons she owned, and when fighting dragons, the best is what it's going to take. She'd combed through her blonde hair and braided it in the traditional Nord caterpillar braids. With a characteristic side-cut, a firm jaw, and a fit, muscular body, Thorunn was the very picture of the average Nord.

She'd packed her satchel full with health and stamina potions. None of them were mages, so she'd seen no point in bringing along magicka stimulants. Among the potions was her journal, a compass, and a rolled up map. All of the essentials for travelling, nothing more and nothing less.

Galmar was dawned in his Stormcloak officer armor, with his impressive greatsword lunged to his back. He looked as big and intimidating as ever, and the smile he gave Thorunn was not a friendly one, but one that said "let's go paint our faces with someone else's blood". Thorunn returned the smile in the exact same manner.

Ulfric was, surprisingly, wearing Nordic Carved armor instead of his usual outfit that consisted of the finest furs pulled over a simple set of light leather armor. One can never be too careful when being the man who killed the previous High King, fairly or not. Two axes were sheathed on his belt. Another surprising thing about Ulfric was that he duel-wielded; most kings either specialized in two-handed, or sword-and-shield. Never had one tested something as roguish as duel-wielding. Something not so surprising about Ulfric, however, was that he was cunning if nothing else.

All three of them had a shield at Thorunn's advisement. They'd need it to block the dragon's Shouts.

The three of them met in the war room of the Blue Palace. It was a lot more roomy than the one back in Windhelm, but consisted of generally the same layout: rectangular table square in the middle of the room, a map spread out on it as well as bottles of ink and quills, armories and shelves of potions and books accentuating.

The trio filed into the war room, taking their respective places at the table. Ulfric on the left, Galmar and Thorunn on the right. Ulfric rested his palm on the hilt of his axe as he leaned forward and pointed to a spot on the map: Right on the peak of a mountain near the Aegis river. It looked difficult to get to, but with horses and willpower, Thorunn didn't think there'd be too much trouble.

"Thorunn," said Ulfric. His tone was all business, but she could sense the affection underlying it. "You're the dragon expert here. What can we expect?"

"A dragon," she deadpanned.

Ulfric stared unblinkingly.

She sighed, rolling her eyes. "When it first takes flight, let me make the first move. Do not attack it until I give you the okay." Ulfric wouldn't like that. He liked being in full control. Thorunn pressed on without regard for his attitude. "The dragon probably isn't going to land on my command. I know a Shout to force it into landing, but we'll still need some kind of crutch."

"Crutch? Like an archer?" input Galmar.

Thorunn hadn't considered that. "Yes, like an archer," She furrowed her brows in concentration. No mere guard would be able to take on a dragon, not solo, anyway. All of Ulfric's high-ranking commanders had set off last night to take back the last remaining forts in Imperial control, taking with them most of his soldiers.

She lifted her head up as it came to her. "I know someone. Let's hope she's still here in Solitude."

"Right then," confirmed Ulfric. He removed his gloved hand from the hilt of his axe, tapping the circled spot on the map. "Let's get moving."

Thorunn nodded in agreement, and she and Galmar followed Ulfric out of the war room and into the throne room. "Jorleif!" barked Ulfric, waving over the ready steward. At Jorleif's approach and respectful bow, he ordered: "The city's yours until I get back. If I've not returned by dusk tomorrow, send a unit out to the circled spot on the map in the war room."

"As you command, Your Highness," complied Jorleif, and took his leave.

Ulfric continued, descending the staircase and nodding curtly to his guards as they opened the doors for him. Behind those doors was the city of Solitude, still heavily bruised by the Stormcloaks' assault. At least there wasn't fire anymore. Constructors and volunteers were working at removing and rebuilding the masonry, and Ulfric and his enterage passed them on their way out.

"Where is this friend of yours?" inquired Ulfric, sending a look over his shoulder at Thorunn.

"The Winking Skeever." she answered. "Her name is Aela. She's within the Circle of the Companions."

"The Companions? I assume she'll be more than suitable for our needs, then."

"That she is."

The rest of the trip was spent in silence up until they reached the doorstep of Solitude's tavern. Ulfric and Galmar waited outside while Thorunn went to retrieve Aela, and much to her relief, the woman in Ancient Nordic armor was still there, drinking her sins away at a lone table. Bemused, Thorunn approached her.

"Up for killing a dragon?" she offered, smiling.

Aela's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You're dragon hunting again? I thought you pronounced that trade after slaying Alduin."

"Yes, well, I got too used to killing dragons every day and now life looks incredibly bleak without it," said Thorunn. She paused as an expectant look rose to Aela's traditional Nord features, then added, more seriously, "Ulfric's orders. We need an archer."

"Ah." Aela set her mug down and stood. She grabbed her bow from its resting spot on the wall of the tavern, then slung it over her shoulder. A smile tugged at her lips. "Why didn't you say so? Let's go slay us a dragon."

Aela had been her primary dragon-slaying partner back when Thorunn was still comfortable with doing that sort of thing. If Aela was unavailable, Farkas would take her stead, but rarely was Aela not available.

And when Thorunn woke up under Paarthurnax's wing at the peak of the Throat of the World that morning after slaying the Harbinger of the End Times, the first thing she'd saw (apart from the fire she was enveloped in) was tens of dragons flying up ahead; free, and not attacking, in their natural state without Alduin's influence. Not only were they not attacking, they didn't want to attack.

So Thorunn had ceased her dragon slaying. No reports of cities being attacked were brought to her attention thereon, and beyond Odahviing and Paarthurnax, Thorunn had left the dragons alone as much as they left her alone. She couldn't help but deem it unnecessary to go seeking trouble with one of them.

The things she did for Ulfric. Even though she was one of the select few who'd seen him in all his naked glory, she had very strict limits on how far she could question him. She was not exempt from his wraith nor his impatience, and he was not exempt from hers at times, either.

"Let's go slay us a dragon," agreed Thorunn, and the two of them left the tavern to rejoin Ulfric and Galmar.

Thorunn's stallion, Aegetha, was waiting for her just outside the gates, alongside Aela's mare Freydis. Galmar didn't happen to own a horse, but Ulfric's stallion Vjorn was inside the stables. Galmar would be bunking with someone and Thorunn felt very bad for that someone. He was a complainer, for starters- "A man's legs were never meant to bend this far apart!"-and he tended to hold on way too tight. With his bulgingly strong arms, that was practically a safety hazard.

To avoid being Galmar's host, Thorunn hoisted herself onto Aegetha's saddle, heeded his hind leg, and took off. Ulfric followed suit for the very same reason, leaving poor, oblivious Aela to carry Galmar.

Thorunn could hear his gruff laugh. "Looks like you're stuck with me, princess," he said. The horse whinnied and Aela sent him an annoyed look as he hoisted his hefty weight onto the saddle behind her. Aela whipped the reins. Moments passed before Freydis was neck-and-neck with Aegetha and Vjorn.

"I feel sorry for her. She doesn't know." quipped Ulfric in an aside to Thorunn.

Thorunn cupped her hand over her mouth to muffle her laughter.

"She? I don't know what?" pressed Aela irritably.

Only Galmar's laugh answered her. The worst part was that the man was fully aware how much of a pain in the ass he was when riding horseback.

Besides a pack of wolves and a couple mudcrabs to handle, the trip was relatively uneventful, but it was a hell of a long one. In actuality, it was only about three hours, but it felt like an entire day with how much bickering and differences of opinion they had. Put four humans together, get sixteen different opinions.

As they neared the mountain, which would undoubtedly be a bitch to climb even with the path, they debriefed the mission once more.

"So," began Ulfric. "Assuming the dragon takes flight at our approach, Thorunn will make the first move. After her signal, we have free reign. And once it lands..."

"I take the rear," Galmar supplied. "Ulfric takes the midsection- go for the wings -and Thorunn takes the big meaty front. I think it's unfair she gets the fun part with all the teeth and bone-crushing jaws."

Thorunn laughed, agreeing.

"While it's in the air, we just sit ducks?" Ulfric continued, ignoring Galmar's chide.

"Pretty much. It's going to either blow fire or frost. Either one will kill you. When that happens, group together and form a shield wall. Aela, you'll just have to crouch down in the middle." Thorunn said.

"Wonderful," she deadpanned.

They dismounted their horses and tied them to a chip in the mountain's side. The last thing they needed was their horses getting killed in the scuffle; in order to prevent that, they needed them far, far away from the fight. They'd be trekking the mountain on foot.

With an exchange of nervous looks, they began their ascend.


	4. The Dragon's Pride

An hour into the climb, the air started thinning and getting colder. Luckily, they'd planned for this and brought along thick fur cloaks in their packs. There was nothing they could do about the hard breathing, though.

They were nearing the top of the mountain. "Are you sure you want to do this, Ulfric?" asked Thorunn.

He had frost bite in his brows and along the ends of his blond hair. "I am. Are you?"

She didn't answer that.

The dragon did not immediately detect them. It was sleeping, one giant mass of scaled, spiked flesh curled into a ball with its wings folded over its body. In this state, the beast almost looked peaceful. Almost. The long snout lined with powerful, large canines and the talons protruding from its toes was a bit off-putting.

"We should go for a preemptive strike," Galmar suggested, cowering behind a boulder along with the rest of the party.

"No," Thorunn said firmly. "It has to be a fair fight."

"Why? Are wizards going to be sicced on us if we tallywack the poor beast before it gets its cup of coffee?"

Thorunn glared. "This is no joke, Galmar. Let me wake the dragon."

"N-"

"Galmar," Ulfric intervened icily. "She's the Dragonborn. Let her."

"Yeah, Galmar. Let her." Thorunn insisted.

Galmar grumbled beneath his breath, then jerked his greatsword towards the sleeping hulk, giving her the okay. Thorunn stood from her crouched position and neared the creature, heart drumming against her chest. Imperials were easy to take down. Draugr were easy to take down. A dragon was not, especially when she didn't even want to do it. Up close, she could see the dragon's hide was bronze in color. This was going to be one hell of a fight.

Thorunn gulped and opened her mouth. "Zuwuth gein, vopraan." Elder one, awake.

The dragon's eyes opened, then widened, then furrowed in rage. Much to her dismayed surprise, it did not take flight, as they had planned.

Nothing to do about that now. Thorunn made the first move, exactly as she'd said she would. "Yol, toor, shul!" she Shouted. A projection of fire hailed from her mouth. She could have been mistaken for a dragon herself if it weren't for the futile human body.

The flames shocked the dragon into taking action. It knew what Thorunn was doing. Greet me as the dovah do, Paarthurnax had said, then taught her the fire breath. The fire was not an attack; it was a greeting.

But not always a welcoming one. The dragon's massive claws swiped at her, ripping through the air. She brought Ysgramor's shield up just in time to deflect the hit. Tensing her muscles to tighten her grip and make sure the shield wasn't knocked out of her hand in a second attack, she tossed a look over her shoulder at the others. "Now!"

They were eager. Galmar rushed forward, bellowing, "You said it would fly!" along the way. He went around to the dragon's rear.

"I say a lot of things!" Thorunn called back.

She readied her axe and took a swing at the dragon's powerful jaw. It hissed in pain as the blade cut through flesh, then flashed its teeth in a warning. Before it could retort to Thorunn, however, it was forced to spin around and address Ulfric's quick thrashes and Galmar's robust hacks.

In its turn, the elder dragon's tail swiped Thorunn right off her feet. An arrow whizzed past her head as she went down, piercing the arrow-shaped tail of the beast. It was reassuring to know Aela was active in the fight. Thorunn fell to the ground, her heavy armor doing jack shit for trying to get to her feet. Clenching her jaw, she planted her shield in the ground and lifted her weight up from there.

The dragon was snapping at Galmar now, and it looked like it was winning. Another arrow zoomed past, this time planted in the dragon's back. That would do no good. The hide was thickest in the back area and thinnest in the stomach area. "Go for the stomach!" Thorunn shouted, bringing her axe down on the dragon's tail. It barely skimmed the skin.

The worst thing about fighting dragons is that they never got tired. They could wait out the fight until its enemy simply collapsed from exhaustion, if it came to that. They could circle ahead without regard for resting, wait until whoever was foolish enough to challenge it went to sleep, then go from there.

Basically, fighting dragons was no easy task, as Ulfric and Galmar were quickly learning. Ulfric's duel-wielding seemed to be slowing down, but he'd hacked up the dragon's right wing enough to make its flying at least rickety. Which reminded Thorunn, why the hell was this thing not taking flight?

Galmar had his greatsword's hilt covering his face. The dragon's talons were rapidly striking at the hilt and, as Thorunn expected, it ripped through the wood like wet tissue paper. Galmar was disarmed and very pissed off.

Sighing, Thorunn rushed ahead. "Galmar!" she called, unsheathing Wuuthrad from its clasp on the back of her armor. Once she had his attention, she slid the massive battleaxe under the dragon's belly and to Galmar. She prayed to Talos he wouldn't get that one maimed. Not only was it a weapon to be reckoned with, it was a priceless relic that belonged to Ysgramor himself.

Thorunn returned to the fight the moment Galmar's hands were wrapped around Wuuthrad's hilt. "Switch places!" she ordered. Galmar hacked the battleaxe into the dragon's jaw, wrenching it free as he swerved to the side to follow suit. The dragon roared in pain, the ground shaking with the power of its voice.

Galmar's side happened to be on the cliff side of the mountain. Balance was not the strong point of someone who wore heavy armor, so Thorunn had to simply hope this wouldn't be a problem. She circled around to the dragon's front. A gash, painted with blood and bits of torn flesh hanging from it, made its mouth look a lot wider than it actually was.

Dragons only got angrier when they were injured. Just as it was bringing its ginormous claws down for a strike, Thorunn knelt to cover her entire body with Ysgramor's shield. It wasn't enough.

The dragon's foot clashed down onto the shield and Thorunn had no choice but to roll the other way in order to avoid being smashed. She slid against the icy snow-coated mountain, unable to catch herself before she went spiraling over the edge. Luck played to her favor, and from where she landed, the height was low enough for her to easily climb back up on the mountain. Thank Talos for uneven mountains.

She went to climb back up to the peak when something bronze caught her eye. She looked over and her eyes widened on instinct. Snuggled into a nest made from twigs, gold coins, and gems was a large, golden egg. Gasping, Thorunn threw herself onto the mountain's peak.

"Stop!" she bellowed. They could not kill a mother dragon. "STOP!"

They didn't stop. The dragon was fighting a hopeless battle as it got impended from all directions; Aela's arrows pierced its front, Ulfric's axes gashed its wings, Galmar's battleaxe ripped through its flesh like nothing. The dragon's movements were slowing down and becoming less enthusiastic; it knew it was losing, and it showed in its eyes.

Thorunn didn't know if it could even recover from its injuries, but she was not going to deliver the killing blow to this creature. She rushed forward and tried to wrench Ulfric from it, tugging on his arms.

He shoved her off. "What the hell are you doing?" he shouted.

"Stop fighting!" she ordered, voice raising several octaves in her desperation.

"Too late for that now!" And he kept on.

The only one hesitating was Aela. She was watching Thorunn with narrowed, confused eyes. Thorunn shook her head, and Aela lowered her bow.

The dragon stopped fighting as well. Thorunn's breath hitched. "Stop!" she tried again. This time, she got results.

"What's she on about?" Galmar bellowed.

Ulfric, too, held annoyance as he hastily turned around to face her. The dragon was laying limply on the ground, in a position a dragon should never lay in, its own blood starting to pool around its figure. The last breaths of its life fell through large, arched nostrils. Thorunn ignored the two men and approached the dragon, disregarding its ferocity and resting a hand on its head. "I'm sorry," she whispered, and the dragon's eyes closed.

She whirled on Ulfric and Galmar. "You idiots," she seethed. "This dragon has an egg!" Up until now, she didn't know dragons even had babies. She'd thought they came straight from the deranged asshole of Oblivion or something.

Ulfric and Galmar exchanged a look, neither of them realizing what they'd done. "A dragon egg could make a lot of coin," Ulfric admitted with a shrug.

She wondered how big of a bounty would be placed on her head for slapping a king. "But you won't be selling it," she said coldly.

Ulfric shrugged again. "Then what do you suggest we do with it?"

The egg would most certainly die out here alone. It'd either be picked apart and dissected by vultures or die from hypothermia. Thorunn knew nothing about taking care of dragons, but she saw only one clear path to ensure its life.

She swallowed the knot in her throat. "We take it."


	5. Pel Rigir Das

Lugging a dragon egg down a mountain was no easy task, and was not to be underestimated. The thing had to weigh at least twenty pounds solid. Thorunn, being the one with the most upper-body strength of the group (and the one who'd suggested this), was stuck with this task. She'd wrapped a sash around her shoulder and stashed the egg in that, to rest loosely at her waist where it wouldn't be so much of a nuisance.

"So, Ulfric," she said, breathing hard. "Is this your idea of a date?"

"That depends. Did you have fun?"

"Absolutely."

"Then yes, this is my idea of a date." His eyes glistened and he shot her a crooked smile. From behind them, Galmar was feigning disgust, making gagging noises.

Thorunn rolled her eyes. Her relationship with Ulfric was no secret to his personal court. Jorleif, Galmar, and a good percentage of his commanders were well aware of what they did behind closed doors. The rest of Skyrim was generally kept in the dark about it, which was for the better. Thorunn, no matter how many titles she had, be it Harbinger of the Companions or Dragonborn, was not a noble, and came far from a noble upbringing. The girl barely knew how to use a fork and had no semblance of an idea on basic table manners.

She was actually from the quiet village of Falkreath, whose only pride happened to be its graveyard. Nobles rarely hailed from lesser villages. Her parents were farmers, then soldiers, then dead. People started getting drafted during the Great War. There were a lot of orphans back then, Thorunn among them. Luckily, by then she was in her late teens and more than capable of taking care of herself.

Unlike most Stormcloaks, she didn't join Ulfric to get revenge for her parents who died at the hands of the Aldmeri Dominion. She joined because she woke up on a carriage being taken to her execution, with an Imperial holding the reins. How she got onto that carriage was something she preferred to keep to herself. It was a less than honorable reason that she'd be better off forgetting about.

Galmar huffed in exhaustion. Thorunn heard his boots skid to a halt. "Can we take a break?" he grumbled.

"Bones getting too creaky, Stone-Fist?" quipped Thorunn.

He grumbled something under his breath. Thorunn only caught a hint of a string of obscene words directed at her mother, including, but not limited to, 'son of a bitch' and 'cheap dragon-slaying son of a tail-wagging whore, no good for nothing'.

Thorunn snickered. Galmar was a pain in the ass at the worst of times, but at least he was creative. Aela picked up her pace to join Thorunn's side, nodding towards the dragon egg resting in the sash. "I wonder if you shouldn't use fire to keep that thing warm."

She tilted her head. "It was on top of a below zero mountain."

"Yes, with its mother," Aela shook her head. "When I first learned you were the Dragonborn, I started doing all kinds of research on dragons and their kin. I'd thought you might be a danger or just trekking through a power trip or something- it doesn't matter now. But from what I read, those things require a hell of a lot of heat to survive before their hide develops."

"I'm no mage, nor do I know any fire spells," said Thorunn. She could see the horses up ahead and felt relief pool in her stomach. "But I see your point. I will send a letter to the Greybeards. They're bound to know something about dragon care."

Aela smiled approvingly. "A good idea, Harbinger."

They reached the horses. Thorunn wasted no time boarding Aegetha, careful not to disturb the egg in her sash. She moved it around to sit comfortably in between her legs on the saddle. They wouldn't want it to fall out and break, despite Thorunn's doubts that a dragon egg could break that easily. It was better safe than sorry.

"I need to be heading back to Whiterun," said Aela after she'd climbed onto her horse. "Is there anything else you would ask of me?"

"No, that'll be all. Thank you." Thorunn nodded dismissively, and they were off in their own directions.

Galmar was bunking with Ulfric. Not long after the ride ensued, they could hear him snoring with his face slouched on Ulfric's back. Thorunn raised her eyebrows at Ulfric, amused, to which he groaned and rolled his eyes. The rest of the trip back to Solitude was generally peaceful, spent in comfortable silence.

That was one of the things Thorunn valued most with her relationship towards Ulfric. They were able to just shut up and enjoy the scenery every once in a while, instead of constantly having to talk and exchange lustful or loving looks. A part of her thought that that was a sure sign of him being the perfect partner.

But there was no chance of that, and Thorunn accepted it. There was a barrier between the two of them that both were wary to cross. One wrong move could have everything crumbling to ashes, and that was unacceptable during such a fragile time in Ulfric's reign. New kings were always seen as target practice to assassins and thieves.

About two days had passed since they'd initially left Solitude. Thorunn hoped the egg was still kicking, despite the absence of its mother. They'd pulled over at an inn mid-way back and soaked it in boiling water while they rested. With hope, that would be enough to get it to Solitude.

Their horses slowed to a halt at the Solitude stables. "Galmar," Ulfric said loudly. A snore answered him. "Galmar!" he barked, louder.

The old man jumped awake, nearly falling off the horse. He regained his balance by latching onto the back of Ulfric's armor, who sighed irritably. Thorunn hopped off of Aegetha and left the stallion to the stable master's care, giving the horse a pat on the snout as a goodbye and an apple as a treat for the trip.

She waited until the two men were off of poor Vjorn before entering the city. The buildings' repairment had progressed since the last time she saw the city, and had she not hated Imperials as much as she did, she may have felt bad for practically destroying it. But she did hate the Imperials, and she didn't feel bad for semi-destroying their city.

She slid the sash further up to cover the egg entirely, not wanting to attract unneeded attention. If the common folk found out about a dragon egg, they'd all grab their father's farming axe and try to slay a dragon for its egg themselves. She couldn't have that, neither for the civilian's sake nor the dragon's.

She, Ulfric, and Galmar made their way to the Blue Palace. While staying at the inn, Ulfric had offered to let Thorunn stay in the palace for as long as she was in Solitude, and, having no better options, Thorunn agreed. It was a comfortable atmosphere anyway. Both because of Ulfric's presence, and the lingering defeat of the Imperials. Sleeping in their queen's bed was the final, and most comical, insult.

And Thorunn would no doubt be sharing a bed with Ulfric. That, too, had been decided at the inn, but after they'd exhausted themselves with tireless sex and lay naked in each other's arms.

The palace came into view and the guards bowed at Ulfric's expense. Once inside, Ulfric leaned down to make sure what he was saying would only reach Thorunn's ears. "You should go to my quarters and start writing that letter to the Greybeards. Send them my regards, and wait up for me." He looked ahead like he hadn't said anything out of the ordinary. In retrospect, he hadn't.

Thorunn nodded in agreement and they went their separate ways- Ulfric to the throne room, where he'd spend the rest of the evening dealing with the petty problems of the public; and Thorunn to his bedroom. Once there, she took a seat at the desk, dipped a quill into an ink bottle, and put ink to parchment. She was always a lousy reader and writer. Her handwriting was sloppy and her grammar poor, but readable. Eligibility was all that mattered to her.

 _Arngeir,_

 _This may (will) come as a surprise to you, but I've got a dragon egg. Long story, but basically, we unknowingly slayed its mother. I know I said the dragon hunting would come to an end, but these were slightly unique circumstances. Anyway, what do I do to ensure this dragon's survival?_

Pel rigir das,

 _Thorunn_


	6. Mara's Patron

Thorunn woke naked, nestled in a mess of blankets and pillows and limbs not her own. Ulfric's leg and arm were strewn over her as he lay on his side, with her head resting on his neck. It was as uncomfortable as it sounded. She winced when she tilted her head and a shot of pain sizzled through her spinal cord from the crane in her neck. Thereon, she was a lot more gentle with herself while she untangled her body from the blankets and Ulfric.

She yawned and stretched her arms out once she was finally free, then leaned down to pick up her cloth shorts. She pulled them over her legs, finding no need to clothe the rest of her body for the time being. She got no further than that before she heard Ulfric's voice, raspy and deep with exhaustion, from behind her.

"Thorunn," he said crackly. "I've a gift for you." His voice got progressively more distant, like he was falling back asleep mid-sentence.

She turned to face him, her thick dark eyebrow arched. His eyes were still closed, but there was the faintest of most genuine smiles on his lips. The only sorts of gifts they exchanged were, essentially, rewards. Said rewards usually involved pristine steel, sharp edges, and leather hilts. No gift was better than the kind that killed people.

But no gift he'd given to her before was offered while he lay naked in bed, streaks of light peaking through the painted glass on the walls and cascading an eerie multi-colored light over the room. Ulfric's eyes opened and he blinked himself awake, squinting in that multi-colored light, then sat up.

He pointed to the vanity. "Open the box. The jeweled one."

Thorunn obliged, still too groggy with sleep to question it. Yawning again, she walked to the vanity and picked up the small black box; jewels were encrusted around its edges. Thorunn's years of raiding and pillaging didn't leave her clueless to gems. These were real, which meant this was going to be an expensive gift if it was priceless right down to the very means of giving it.

Slowly, she lifted its tab and opened the lid. Inside was an amulet, gold in color with a blue gem in the middle of its circular charm. Intricately designed waves protruded from the gem. There was no mistaking. This was an Amulet of Mara. Confused, Thorunn turned to face Ulfric, the necklace's chain in her fingers. She stared at him expectantly, waiting for an explanation.

He merely smiled. "Well?"

Her brows knitted together. "I do not revere Mara." And Ulfric knew that, which left only one reason as to why he would gift her with Mara's amulet.

"It is still a pretty piece of jewelry, no?" He stood and began dawning his finery, one piece at a time. "You're not required to wear it. Not unless your hand is open for marriage, anyway."

The pieces started sliding into place. Thorunn dropped the amulet out of shock and he turned around to see what had thumped the ground. When he saw it laying on the ground, he gave Thorunn a look of malcontent. "A simple 'I don't like it' would have sufficed." he said.

She hastened to pick the amulet back up. She placed it back in the box, where it would be free from potential damage. "No, no, that's not it. You just surprised me." She closed the lid of the box and put it back on the vanity's surface. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." He finished lacing his finery, then started approaching her. Or, what she thought was her. He was actually going for the mirror of the vanity to fix his hair with its usual braided untidiness.

Thorunn watched him, for a time. "I need to go hunt before the sun completely rises," she announced.

"Very well. Be back in time for a more... domestic breakfast." He patted her shoulder dismissively.

She suppressed a dry chuckle and dawned her fur cloak, tying it at her chest to make sure it covered her body that was completely nude apart from the shorts she wore. There was no point in wearing clothes for what she was heading out to take care of. She slipped her boots on, and she was off.

Thorunn returned to the Blue Palace by noon. She'd taken the clothes off of one of her prey and changed into that, despite how ragged and dirty those clothes happened to be. The outfit consisted of brown trousers and a loose tunic with a laced bodice, all three sizes too big for her. She liked meaty prey.

Voices could be heard the moment she stepped over the threshold of the palace. "-caught fleeing from battle at Fort Ingstad," someone with a feminine voice was saying. Thorunn ascended the staircase into the throne room, watching the scene from afar. She leaned against the railing, crossing her ankles. Ulfric sat slouched in the throne, cheek resting on his fist.

There was a Stormcloak at his feet.

"This Fort Ingstad- it was under Imperial control, correct? And this soldier of mine fled the invasion to retake it?" prompted Ulfric, sounding interested despite his lazy appearance.

"Yes," confirmed the woman, also dressed in Stormcloak armor. "Fleeing a battle is punishable by death."

"Do not insult my intelligence, cadet, I am aware of the law." Ulfric snapped irritably. He looked over the kneeling, shackled soldier part of the guilty party. "What is your name?"

"Hrognar, sir."

"Hrognar, what have you to say for yourself? You took an oath, and you are well aware the Stormcloaks do not accept cowards into their ranks. By fleeing, are you insulting the judgement of my second?" Ulfric gestured to Galmar, who looked completely disgusted with this Hrognar.

"No, sir," said Hrognar. His voice was wavering, his bottom lip quivering. He kept his head down. "I admit my cowardice and I accept whatever punishment you deem fitting. I got cold feet at the last second, I... It was my first battle, sir. An ice wraith and a human being are two very different things when it comes to killing."

Galmar scoffed. Meanwhile, Thorunn stood with arms and ankles crossed, head tilted slightly and a passive look on her face. She had somewhat of an amused smirk; this kind of trial was child's play. It wouldn't be hard to decide if this man was guilty or not.

"Such human beings are Imperials. One could argue that both intend to oppress and kill." argued Ulfric.

"They had families, sir," Hrognar retorted, his voice barely above a whisper now. "One of them... As she was going down, she said... she said to her friend, 'tell my son I love him.' Her friend said back to her, 'I don't think I'll be making it out of here to do that, sister.' My Lord, they suffer just as we do. I am in awe of the Stormcloaks, I truly am, but not for their cause. I am in awe because they are able to kill their brothers."

"They are not our brothers!" Galmar shouted. His rage had long since been building up. The natural deep to his voice punctured the air like steel against steel.

Hrognar flinched, while Ulfric seemed unphased. "Galmar, compose yourself," he said with a wave of his hand. "While my companion may be loud in his way of expressing it, he is right. The Imperials are not our brothers. You should have understood that before taking your oath."

"I..." The Nord looked like he might argue, but he clamped his mouth shut and raised his chin. "I understand." His tone had gone surprisingly strong in contrast to his earlier desperation.

"Guards, take him to the prisons. His execution will go through on the 31st of Sun's Height." That was in three days.

The guards did just that, yanking Hrognar up by the forearms and carrying him away. He didn't struggle. The Stormcloak woman who'd brought him in saluted, bowed her head, and took her leave. Ulfric's eyes finally passed to Thorunn and he waved her over. She pushed her weight off the railing and did as gestured, stepping up to the staircase that led to the altar holding Ulfric and his throne. His eyes glazed down to her chest and Thorunn knew what he was looking for: The Amulet of Mara.

And, much to his visible pleasure, the gem glistened in the candlelight. When his gaze touched Thorunn's once more, he was smirking.


	7. Promises

An entire week passed, uneventful. Thorunn didn't know what game the king was playing with her, but it was igniting a fierce impatience coupled with an even fiercer anger, and that was never good for anyone in her vicinity. He'd built her up- he'd inadvertently convinced her that there was never a chance of commitment between them, then he'd given her an Amulet of Mara, and then... nothing.

The sex resumed, of course. That part was nothing new. Nor was the bed-sharing, the public displays of affection during very professional court meetings, and the frequent hunting trips that everyone knew was actually their warped version of a date. Nordic warriors tended to stray away from romantic walks on the beach, and instead elected for romantic Imperial bloodshed. Nothing set the mood better than being coated in someone else's blood while standing in a sea of bodies. And they say romance is dead.

But again, none of this was new. Ulfric had given her an Amulet of Mara, which, at the time, had seemed like an indomitable coming-proposal. His poker face was truly one to be reckoned with, Thorunn had to give him that. Hers was not so well-developed, given her upbringing that stayed far away from politics and thus the art of deceit, so she and Ulfric were both well aware of her frustration with him.

Worse yet, he seemed amused with her impatience. Now, he sat at the head of the summit room, Jarl Vignar rambling on about lack of funds to his right, a disgruntled Galmar to his left, and a bored Thorunn to his front. Subconsciously, she was fiddling with the pristine jewel of Mara's amulet, watching Vignar as she pretended to be listening. Ulfric was doing much the same, except his feign of interest looked a lot more convincing.

"...trade for Whiterun has decreased considerably since Balgruuf stepped down!" Vignar was saying indignantly.

"Let the shock cool down, Vignar. You've barely given your city time to breathe since the attack." Ulfric reasoned. Thorunn was impressed with his ability to sound so devoted when his expression looked anything but.

"It's been nearly a year," Vignar bit back. Spittle hailed from his mouth. Ulfric's jaw visibly clenched, but Vignar didn't seem to notice. "I'd be the last one to suggest this, so you know things are serious when I say this: Negotiate something with the Empire to get some of our prosper back. Don't give 'em any power, oh no, but rustle up some feathers. A good High King knows just how to do that."

Vignar's mouth was too big for his own good, which was exactly why Thorunn liked him so much. Never a dull moment with him around. Ulfric didn't seem to be swayed, but he knew that he'd be here all night if he didn't give Vignar what he wanted. That didn't mean he'd let Vignar's disrespect slide. "Do not question my ability to rule. I am your High King, you will address me as such, and you will treat me as such." Ulfric was suddenly at attention, leaning forward in his chair to give Vignar the glare of the ages.

They held glares for a moment while Ulfric got his point across, then he relaxed and plopped back into the seat. "I will see what I can do. It's a long trip back to Whiterun. If you start now, you might get back by the time the sun rises."

Vignar's face lit up. For a moment, Thorunn thought he might bite back at Ulfric. He wasn't a complete fool, however. Settling for a discreet scowl- because he just couldn't resist expressing his irritation -he stood. "Very well, my King. I thank you for your consideration." His tone was more akin to being pissed off rather than grateful. With all that needed to be said having been said, Vignar spun on his heel and took his leave, his steward trailing behind with him.

Silence settled over the remaining court members. Thorunn was not officially part of the court. 'Mistress' was a title she refused to even consider taking, and 'chancellor' was too nice of a word to be associated with someone who bludgeoned people to death for fun. Steward was occupied by Jorleif, second-in-command was occupied by Galmar, court wizard was taken by someone Thorunn didn't care to know the name of, so that left only one position: High Queen.

 _If only this fucker would put a ring on it,_ Thorunn thought scathingly. The thought held so much distaste that it surprised even her, and she'd gotten alarmingly creative with her shit-talking before. Ulfric seemed to catch her rising anger, and much to her dismay, he actually smiled.

She didn't care to fake a return. Galmar looked between the two passively. "I'm very inclinced to use my greatsword to cut through all this tension," he commented.

Ulfric's eyes passed to his second. "If you're feeling tense, might I suggest a massage from our harlot?"

Galmar grumbled beneath his breath, cheeks reddening. The harlot- every court had one, though every single one of them were too embarrassed to admit it -was a Breton man with a charming smile and even more charming hand techniques. Thorunn knew from personal experience, back in the early stages of her and Ulfric's sexual relationship. What could she say? Women had needs, and their fair Breton happened to have the means.

"I take that as my queue to go break something that will ruin someone's day," said Galmar, his chair scratching the floor as he stood. "Have a good night."

Ulfric waved, looking as chippy as a man who'd successfully conned someone out of a room could be. Once Galmar had left, he cut through the silence: "I've noticed your recent agitation, Thorunn."

"Have you?"

"I have." A gaunty smile reached his lips. "You've been pretty... aggressive, as of late, in our bedroom endeavors."

"Perhaps the wolf inside me is simply lacking in protein," she replied, her smile just as honeyed as his.

He laughed, genuine this time. "I see. And what will sate this wolf's appetite?"

Her eyes narrowed, smile fading as her words progressed. "I think you know the answer to that."

That much was true, she supposed. She did know what he was waiting for: A challenge. Ulfric never did like having his fancies handed to him on a silver platter. The calm before the storm, the build up, the game, whatever one likes to call it- that was his favorite part. He liked to be teased. He liked his prize dangling in front of his nose.

There was a problem with that when it came to marrying Thorunn: She wasn't a teaser. She didn't play with her food or bother herself with trying to lie, she simply went in, took what she wanted, and left before anyone could put a bounty on her head for misconduct.

Her shoulders stiffened and it was too late for her to correct it before Ulfric picked up on her unease. He smiled, a natural, almost boyish tint to its mood. "Don't fret. The time will come, believe me, but for now, let us retire to our quarters. It has been a tiresome day."

Thorunn let him approach her and take her hand without really thinking about it. It wasn't until they reached the room and closed the door that she started registering what was happening, and then a sinking realization dawned on her: Ulfric liked being the teaser as much as he liked being the teasee.


	8. Tiid Amvit Los Ved

The hall stretched out before her was long and dark, illuminated only by the dull torches hanging up on the walls. Thorunn carried a candle even so as she passed through the ominous length of the corridor. At the end was a simple wooden door with intricate Nordic designs carved into the trim and a gold knob. Upon reaching it, Thorunn gripped it and turned, opening the door and revealing a large circular room with painted glass windows, nine shrines, and a woman in hooded robes sitting on a bench to the far left reading a book.

Thorunn looked over the shrines, eyes lingering on the ninth. Its stone model was in the shape of the hilt of a sword and at its base were flowers ranging from blue to red, gold coin pieces, jewelry, and even a lock of golden blond hair. A couple months ago, this shrine was not here, outlawed by Skyrim's temporary religious persecutors now exiled by the man currently sitting on the throne. The Empire had been the puppet and the Thalmor the puppeteer, and eventually, the elves would return for a second attempt at taking Skyrim. But for now, this shrine to the hero-god of man Talos would remain.

The priest sitting on the bench didn't look up or acknowledge Thorunn's presence as she approached the shrine. Thorunn recognized the Nordic woman as Freir. It'd been far too long since she'd come to pray; to the Nine, anyway. It wasn't that she revered the wolf in her. She only prayed to Hircine that he would not see her lose control of that wolf.

She sat the candle down in a sconce near the shrines and knelt, one elbow resting on her knee and the other fist on her heart as if she were kneeling before a king. Her brown fur cloak hung behind her, cascading over the tiled floor. She bowed her head and closed her eyes.

 _Hear me, Talos,_ she chanted quietly beneath her breath. _Here on this place we mark our tribute. Here on this place we honor the Gods. Here on this place we sacrifice._

Opening her eyes, she pulled a Dwarven dagger from its sheath on her belt and held her hand out over the base of Talos's shrine, then closed her other hand around the dagger and slid it along its blade. Accustomed to the feeling of blade blemishing skin, she did not react to the painful sensation following the blood that trickled down the wound in her palm. A couple drops of warm, red life essence pooled at the base of the shrine.

She could have offered anything. A jewel, a necklace, a sword, a coin, even a dragon's egg. But none of those things held as much value to Thorunn as her own blood. Battle was her life's mistress, and the most important thing to any person who honed these battles was their own blood. And Thorunn would gladly spill every last drop for the almighty Talos.

She sheathed her dagger and withdrew her still-bleeding hand. _I ask for answers,_ she said within the confines of her mind. _Tell me what the future holds for my sword. Tell me where next it will land. What will it take from me?_

"Dragonborn," an unfamiliar voice said. Clenching her jaw and bitterly opening her eyes, Thorunn looked over her shoulder, spotting a small man holding a letter out to her. "Letter for you." he said.

Thorunn snatched the letter from him. "Leave." she ordered, and without a second's hesitation, the courier took off, leaving Thorunn to her own hostile devices. She looked down at the roll of parchment in her hand, uninterested until she caught sight of the seal. It was black with a two-headed dragon. This letter could only be from the Greybeards, no doubt returning answers for the letter she sent out weeks ago regarding the dragon's egg.

 _Dovahkiin,_ the letter read. _A mother bear cannot give you answers regarding human children. Tiid amvit los ved._

Thorunn's brows furrowed. That's it? After, what, four weeks, this is all she gets? For the time being, she'd followed Aela's advice and put the egg in a fire. It had not burned and, according to the court wizard, it was still very much alive. As for what would happen when it hatched- provided it ever would -that was where Thorunn needed answers.

Instead, she was given a riddle and a couple choice words in Dovah. Thank you, Arngeir, she thought scathingly. She crumpled the letter and turned back to the shrine of Talos as if it could give her the answers she desperately needed. _Well?_ she pressed to a God that was silent in His listening. _What does my sword pierce?_

She stared at the shrine for several moments longer, knowing nothing would happen even if she sat there until her platinum blonde hair began graying. But as she stood to take her leave, the corner of her eye caught the sunlight beaming off of a lock of golden hair.


	9. Bound Until Death

There was to be a wedding today.

Not Thorunn's, much to her impatience dismay, but a wedding that was apparently to celebrate the union between an Imperial and a Stormcloak. Said Imperial had already sworn fealty to Ulfric, which brought a chuckle to Thorunn's lips. It was the only way this impending wedding was blessed by the High King. Both Ulfric and Thorunn guffawed at the idea of it; it was more of a joke to them than anything. There would never be peace between the Imperials and the Stormcloaks, not now.

But let them humor the High King. Ulfric was even attending the bonding between Vittoria Vici and Asgeir Snow-Shod himself, most likely to root out more rebellion, but even so. The Emperor's cousin had arrived with her groom just shy of an hour ago and was currently making preparations for the celebration while Ulfric and Thorunn readied themselves as well.

Thorunn dressed herself in a blue and silver velvet gown, jewels embedded on the hems. She tied a black fur cloak around her shoulders and put her hair into a traditional braided updo, worn exclusively by Nordic women. Beneath her dress were several daggers and various poisons. She dared to even sport a longsword in her belt, just to let everyone know she was not to be mistaken for a hapless damsel, despite the jewels and honeyed smile. The Talos amulet and Mara amulet weighed heavy beneath her dress, but not as heavy as the shield beneath her cloak.

Ulfric too wore a blue and silver tunic, his untidy braided hair held down by a grandiose jeweled golden crown. At his belt were two axes, the same ones he wielded during the Battle of Solitude. His cloak was silver and the Talos amulet around his neck gleamed. Thorunn thought he never looked more kingly than he did with a scrutinizing frown on his lips, and today, his frown was never more.

"I suspect the food will be good, if nothing else," he quipped upon reaching Thorunn just outside the Blue Palace. He was flanked by a unit of kingsguard, Galmar Stone-Fist among them. Galmar, not surprisingly, wore his usual Stormcloak Officer uniform and obnoxious glare.

"Watching the guests pretend to like each other should be amusing," Thorunn added with a smirk.

Ulfric nodded in agreement, and started down the cobblestone path, Thorunn at his side. Banners both baring the Imperial sigil and the Stormcloak sigil flocked the pillars surrounding the stone houses they passed. Common folk bowed their heads respectfully as Ulfric and the Dragonborn passed, though not all of them looked pleased to do so, Thorunn noted.

The courtyard slowly came into view. Music could be heard, coming from what Thorunn identified as ceremonial drums, mouth harps, and goat horns as well as other sounds she could not recognize from her Skyrim upbringing. Upon getting closer, the guests were visible, some wearing red and others wearing blue.

The esteemed bride and groom sat under a white arc and rows of wooden pews hosted the guests. Many looked displeased with their family member's choice of lover. Thorunn couldn't help but chuckle darkly. The crowd's quiet chattering came to a halt as she and Ulfric stepped into the courtyard, and all heads turned their way. Many of the guests in blue stood up to bow, eager to express their affection the newly appointed High King.

"High King Ulfric!" Asgeir, the groom, exclaimed. He stood from his seat and hurried over to them, kneeling the moment he approached and putting a fist over his heart. "I did not expect you to show up, Your Grace," he lavished.

Ulfric ushered for the red-faced man to stand, and stand he did. "Please," he insisted. "This is your day. You need not spare me your attention when you should be giving it to your blushing bride."

"I- of course! Of course. Please, enjoy yourself, and thank you for coming. Thank you. And you as well, m'lady." He bowed his head respectfully to Thorunn, and with a bemused smirk, she returned the nod dismissively. Beaming, the man returned to his bride, and the chatter resumed, some of it malcontent.

Thorunn ran her eyes over the courtyard. She identified a select few of the crowd, including Pantea Ateia. Most had average faces and average builds, nothing worthy of note. She grew bored until her eyes found an alarmingly handsome man standing off in the back, shoulder leaning against the doorway with his hands folded in front of his waist.

Unlike everyone else, he was not dressed in blue nor red. He was in black and gold, colors that complimented his blond hair and strikingly blue eyes. A Nord, she presumed, though his build was not that of the traditional. He was slender and tall, a build more akin to a person who wielded daggers or a bow. His eyes kept scanning the courtyard as if he were analyzing something, and his patronizing gaze eventually touched Thorunn's.

A smirk rose to his lips, and he winked.

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously and resisted the urge to grab the hilt of her sword. She did not break eye contact until he first looked away, then she turned her head to look at Ulfric to see if he'd noticed this. Instead, he was watching the exotic dancers across the yard. She suppressed a scoff.

Her eyes returned to the mysterious blond-haired man. His position had not changed since last she looked his way. She wondered if she should bring him to Ulfric's attention, but decided against it when she saw his eyes run up and down one of the dancers who was completely naked save for a loin cloth that reached her ankles and jeweled necklaces and chokers at her throat. A Redguard, at that.

"I'm going to speak with Pantea," she announced, then left Ulfric's presence. She did not head in Pantea's direction, however, instead going towards the back of the courtyard to confront this mystery man. He looked her way when he sensed her approach, though he seemed unfazed. Who did he think he was? He should be trembling by now.

But she kept her cool, and appeared passive as she leaned against the doorway opposite him. She placed her back against it and crossed her ankles, staring at him thoughtfully with her head tilted slightly. He side-eyed her, that sly smirk of his ever present.

He said nothing. The silence stretched on until Thorunn could scarcely stand it. "Who are you?" she demanded, breaking at last.

His smirk widened. "Nobody," he answered, his voice smooth and pleasant like mead.

"Nobody is 'nobody'," she retorted.

He shrugged casually. "Compared to you, they are."

"So you do know who I am."

"Thorunn Aseldottir-Stormblade, confidant of the King, Dragonborn, Harbinger of the Companions, Dragon Queen, and renowned shield maiden," he recited without missing a beat. "Charmed." His smirk transitioned into a genuine smile, though she was certain he was more pleased with his knowledge than with being in her presence.

Her eyes narrowed once more. Very few knew her given last name. This man was far from 'nobody'. "Who invited you?" she pressed.

"Invitations were given to no one," he responded coolly. "This is an open celebration, is it not? A free-for-all?"

He was right, but that brought her no comfort. "Your name," she insisted, her tone growing more firm. "What is your name?"

"Nobody," he repeated, smirk still present.

"I-"

"Dragonborn!" a boyish voice exclaimed, interrupting her. Her gaze turned to a glare faster than she would swing her sword and she whipped her head around to hand it to the persecutor. It was a boy, no older than twelve. "Dragonborn! Is it you? The dragon slayer?"

She sighed through gritted teeth, turning her body to face the boy. Gods, she couldn't wait to never have children. "Yes, child, now unless you would see the dragon within me awaken, I suggest you run along." She towered over him and he hunkered down. He gulped, nodding then taking off to go bother the musicians.

She watched him go, then went to return her attention to the mystery man, but he was gone. Furrowing her brows in confusion, she looked around but saw no sight of him. He wouldn't be hard to spot, dressed in black amidst a crowd in red and blue, but alas.

Then everything happened at once. A cry of pain from the bride followed the golden arrow that pierced the center of her forehead, then a cry of shock and anger from the groom, then the sound of steel scraping against a scabbard as he withdrew his sword. Several guests stood up with their blades drawn as well, and the kingsguard rushed to form a protective circle around the High King. A cacophony of shouts and clattering instruments enveloped the crowd.

It only grew louder when the Argonian dressed in Dark Brotherhood armor appeared from mid-air to distract the guards. Thorunn drew her sword, knowing exactly who had done this and angered by this knowledge. She rushed towards the Argonian, whose daggers flurried through the air faster than her eyes could follow. He'd taken down two guards before they could even realize what was happening, and one more before he, too, vanished right before their eyes. It was clear now that he was not aiming to kill. He was aiming to distract.

Thorunn's sword swung through vacant air. He was gone, and so was the handsome nobody. "Talos damn it!" she swore loudly.

"You cursed Stormcloaks! This was your doing!" an old Imperial woman shouted, voice drenched in hatred.

"Watch your tongue!" came the booming voice of Ulfric as he shoved through his guards to confront this woman. "The Stormcloaks had nothing to do with this, and to even suggest such a retched thing should be treated as treason!"

"Pah!" the woman spat. "Treason! You first betray your King, and now you betray your Emperor by slaying his cousin! At her wedding, of all things!"

The guards were already hurrying to arrest the woman. Thorunn could do nothing but watch, knuckles white against the hilt of her sword. The old woman kept her seething eyes on Ulfric the entire time she was being shackled. She spit on the ground before his feet. "The day you hang will be Skyrim's retribution," she promised, and then she was dragged away.


	10. Of Your Own Creation

Solitude was in an uproar and the royal court was suffering for it.

Thorunn was the only one to spot the Argonian in Dark Brotherhood armor apart from the three guards he had slain. The rest of the guests had been too consumed with the bleeding bride and the guards had been too focused on protecting the High King. As a result, she was talked over whenever she brought it up. "The Dark Brotherhood is no more," they would say, and she would clench her fist. "Commander Maro took care of them before half of Skyrim even knew of the dragons' return."

Thorunn would have agreed had she not seen that glint of red and black leather armor. When she was a girl, the Dark Brotherhood had a presence in Skyrim that was made of gold. Her mother used to warn her, "Be good and true to people, else you may just have someone chanting the Sweet Mother in your name." That never stopped Thorunn, of course. The same day her mother told her the nature of the organization, she'd cut off a boy's finger with a kitchen knife for making fun of her tattered clothes.

She'd gathered bits and pieces of information regarding the mysterious assassins, none that she actively sought out. She knew the obvious parts: They were Daedra worshipers, revering the avatar of entropy and chaos Sithis and their spiritual leader, the Night Mother. She knew the way to contact the Dark Brotherhood was through the Black Sacrament, though the only words she knew from the chant were "sweet mother, sweet mother"- that mother being the Night Mother, of course.

And she knew that not long ago, just shy of a year, perhaps, a boy in Windhelm had been attempting to use that chant. Thorunn had ignored those rumors, laughing in ridicule at the idea. What else was she to do? A prepubescent boy alone in a house stabbing a skeleton during some sort of black magic ritual- the image was entertaining. Now, she reflected, she should have taken it a bit more seriously. She couldn't help but think that if she'd talked that boy down, the Brotherhood wouldn't have gained enough notoriety to go after someone as highborn and revered as Vittoria Vici.

"There has been talk of the Dark Brotherhood rising to power again," reasoned Ulfric, sitting at the table in the long hall amidst his court.

He sat in the throne at the very end, with Galmar to his left and Thorunn to his right. A number of other court members were positioned around the table: Jorleif, Ulfric's long-standing steward; Sybille Stentor, the court wizard who'd remained even after Elisif stood down due to her oath of fealty; Freya Gentry, a diplomatic Nordic woman with burn scars on her neck, who'd been added to the court after Ulfric's coronation; and Velerys Dothri, a Breton man too clever for Thorunn to ever trust him.

Thorunn was grateful even for this sliver of hope. She let out a breath, leaning back in her seat. Finally, after two days of unrest, he was listening to her.

"We cannot be pointing fingers without aim," said Freya. She was a firm-toned, stubborn woman with typical Nordic features, her blonde hair wrapped in a tight bun at the nape of her neck and a thin layer of black coal resting atop and below her eyelids. She was more slender and graceful than most Nords, a sure sign she had been raised a noble and not a commoner or soldier. She'd never had to lift a finger in her life, Thorunn bet, but even so, she respected the lady. Thorunn could never spend as much time in a court as this woman had.

"And we're not," Ulfric responded. "The Dragonborn says she saw the assassin and we have no other directions to point our fingers at this point in time. The Brotherhood is our only lead, and I say we should look into it, even if it is only a goose chase. I fear if we do not find a culprit soon, our accusers will tear the palace down again."

Freya's jaw visibly clenched. "You say you have received word from the Emperor."

"That I have," Ulfric confirmed. He gestured to Jorleif, and the steward rose from his seat to fetch the roll of parchment sitting on the far desk. He returned to Ulfric at once. The gold seal of Cyrodiil gleamed in the candle light as the parchment was passed to Ulfric. He unrolled it, eyes touching the wording. Thorunn noticed that he was skimming over a great deal of the letter, but she said nothing and waited patiently. "He only requests that the body be returned to Cyrodiil. He is alarmingly passive."

"That is all the letter says?" piped in Velerys, tone sharp. A short and slender man roughly in his mid-forties, Velerys had dark hair and even darker eyes that blended well with his swarthy, freckled skin. Streaks of gray flowed through his short beard and the temples of his hair. He was a mage, Thorunn knew, as all folk hailing from High Rock were, but she suspected he favored a pair of daggers over magic. His hands were too rough and too calloused to be solely used for magic.

Ulfric's eyes narrowed at the Breton. He leaned back in his iron chair, thumbing his chin thoughtfully. "No, Velerys, that is not all that the letter says, but it is the only thing that pertains to this meeting." It was abundantly obvious that Ulfric wasn't letting on as much as he could be, but that was well within the right. He was the High King, after all. Their words were mere whispers against a thunderstorm.

But Thorunn didn't fall for that. She arched a brow, giving him a domineering look. His gaze reached hers and softened briefly, though the look was gone as soon as it had appearance. He inhaled sharply, leaning forward. "Have we reached a conclusion on the best course of action to take?" he asked.

"I still vote for taking care of our accusers the same way we always do," said Galmar. It was the first thing he'd said since the beginning of the meeting. His eyes were glossed over and his posture lazy; he was bored, no doubt, and Thorunn had to admit she was on the same page. "With an axe." A hungry grin rose to his lips, revealing a couple gold-capped teeth.

Ulfric chuckled despite himself. "My dear friend, if we continue to answer all questions with an axe, we will have no people to rule over."

Galmar shrugged and reached up to pat the hilt of his greatsword affectionately. "Suit yourself. Let me know when you change your mind."

"Of course," Ulfric turned his gaze to the rest of them. "Well?"

Freya cleared her throat and leaned forward, clasping her fingers together atop the table. "Investigate this Dark Brotherhood, but spare no men or resources until we have solid evidence. Our dear Dragonborn is the one that claims this Brotherhood is on the rise, therefore I deem it best to send her and her own flock."

Thorunn's eyes narrowed dangerously. There was nothing inherently offensive in Freya's statement. Thorunn just didn't quite appreciate that sneer on her face as she spoke of the Companions. "Do not speak of me as if I'm not here." she ordered, with a surprisingly coolness.

Freya bowed her head, surrendering and saying no more.

Ulfric's eyes passed to Velerys. "What say you?" he prompted.

"I second Freya," the Breton said. "though bringing the Companions into this may bring more trouble than it's worth. We do not want to attract unwanted attention. Work alone, Dragonborn, for the time being."

Ulfric nodded, leaning back in his chair once more. "Fair enough. It's settled, then. Thorunn, you are to begin investigating the Dark Brotherhood's whereabouts. I suggest reading up on the organization first to better strategize. You have unlimited access to my personal library should you choose to search for books regarding them. Should it come to pass that you are in need of resources, be it sneak thieves or poisons, you need only ask."

Thorunn didn't see this task as any more difficult than everything else she'd gone through thus far. One of the simpler quests, in fact. "Very well," she submitted, deciding she would start with the library he'd offered up to her. The High King's library had books that weren't available anywhere else in all of Nirn. If there was some dark secret within the Brotherhood that she needed to know before charging headlong into their establishment, that was the place to find it.

Ulfric sighed warily. "And what shall I do with the accusers locked in the cells?" He was looking specifically at Galmar for this one. Around twenty-two prisoners had been accumulated since Vittoria Vici's death, all of the same crime: Accusing the Stormcloaks of being the murderers and spitting vile things regarding Ulfric and his head being cleaved.

Galmar's sigh was heavy. He always looked especially old when he did that. The wrinkles around his eyes crinkled and the gray in his beard seemed to become more prominent. "I say give them a couple lashings then let them loose," he said. "They're all common folk, low-borns that can't rub two coppers together. They pose no real threat."

"Fine. Guards, pass that along to the prison guards. Five lashes each to the accusers." Ulfric pushed his chair back and stood. "This meeting is adjourned." He looked down at Thorunn, locking eye contact, then nodded his head, willing her to follow him.

Without question, she did, knowing already where he planned to lead her. She noted he was carrying the role of parchment with the Emperor's seal on it and knew then that he was not leading her to his quarters for a romantic getaway. Something about that letter was troubling him.

Upon reaching his quarters, he closed the door behind them and locked it. He stood with his back facing her for a few tense moments, his head bowed as if in prayer. Then his head rose and he turned to face her, handing her the roll of parchment. "He knew" was all he said.

Choosing not to comment, Thorunn unrolled it and began to read.

 _Ulfric Stormcloak,_

 _I should first congratulate you on your victory against the Empire. I only hope you knew what you were signing up for when you donned your crown, and I hope that you can keep it long enough to know how truly heavy that crown can be. Being the ruler of a country is no moonlit stroll through a meadow. Friends become users and traitors and greed-soaked lechers, family becomes a liability, and your own heart becomes so thick with paranoia that you can scarcely sleep without seeing knives replace the springs in your bed._

 _But enough of that. You should already know all about that, no? You are a self-proclaimed natural born king, therefore you were born knowing the darkness that awaited you. Such sadness touches me to picture a boy no older than ten with a weary look in his eyes and a heart too heavy to keep up with his paranoia-honed mind._

 _I have received news of my cousin's assassination- you will note that yes, I use that word openly, because that is exactly what it was. Do not be blind by the love you have for your country. It has its sharp edges and it is clear to me now that the Dark Brotherhood is one of them. The sanctuary they had here in Cyrodiil was torched by my own kingsguard about a year ago. I suggest you do the same, and quickly._

 _Please return my cousin's body to Cyrodiil. She will want to have an Imperial burial. The Snow-Shod family is welcome to attend the funeral if they so please. I had been planning to make a visit to Skyrim to solidify your coronation with a treaty to officially rid your country of the Empire and all it has to offer, both good and bad. Perhaps after you deal with this Dark Brotherhood, we can revisit that idea._

 _The real target the Dark Brotherhood seeks is clear to all. You would do well to be wary and trust no one, as I have learned to do._

 _Emperor Titus Mede_ II


	11. The Dragon's Hearth

Thorunn woke as she normally did: Nude, with Ulfric laying upon her chest, snoring softly. She stirred when her eyes opened to the light pouring through the gilded windows. She removed a hand from Ulfric's bare back to cover her eyes. The lack of warmth within that spot seemed to be the only thing keeping his eyes closed; the snoring ceased and he rolled onto his back, peering up at Thorunn with a warm frown.

She caught the odd look. "Yes?" she prompted, removing her hand from her eyes to regard him pensively.

"You leave today," he said heavily.

"I leave many days," Rarely did she linger in the palace. She was not officially part of the royal court and thus wasn't required to remain, and she took full advantage of that freedom. In addition, the blood of the wolf still plagued her, as it reminded her every morning when she woke from restless sleep to aching bones and headaches. The wolf needed to hunt.

Ulfric's frown deepened. "I will be without you for many weeks to come, perhaps longer. We have been together every night for the past month. I fear I've forgotten how to sleep alone."

She reached out to trace her thumb across his cheek, brown eyes meeting blue. Her other hand idly fingered the Talos amulet around her neck. "You will never spend a night alone," she said softly.

He chuckled, but it fell flat, the corners of his mouth twitching downward as his frown returned. "Ah, if only that were true. Talos is not quite the same as a warm, touchable woman."

"Touchable," she echoed. Her thumb ceased its movement.

He smiled, genuine and soft, eyes warm and loving. He reached for her, his large hand gently cuffing her waist as he moved to hover above her. His smile turned to a crooked grin as he gazed down at her, stroking a strand of blonde hair away from her forehead. He leaned down as if to kiss her and she closed her eyes in anticipation, but his lips never grazed hers.

Instead, they brushed against her collarbone as he dipped. He laid tender kisses all along her collarbone until he reached the Mara amulet resting beside Talos's favor. Eyes still shut, Thorunn smiled. Such softness in this man was not something she could have ever predicted from the way he presented himself outside of his quarters.

Ulfric pressed his lips against the Amulet of Mara. " _Aavlaas zey, dii krein ahrk iilah,_ " he whispered against it, as feathery as the kisses and looks he gave her. _Marry me, my sun and moon,_ he'd said in the language that came to his beloved as easily as breathing.

She laughed, eyes finally opening. She couldn't help it. " _Geh,_ " she responded. _Yes._ " _Rah, geh._ " _Gods, yes._

His laughter joined her and he leaned up to give her a passionate kiss on the lips that dragged on until their smiles were mere memories of the heart. "We can make the announcement when you return," he promised upon breaking away. "And you _will_ return, preferably in one piece. Be careful out there, _dii lokaal_. The only thing harder than Skyrim is her people, as you well know." And they both loved their country for it.

Thorunn sat up with a certain abruptness, taking Ulfric with her. Her face was hardly an inch from his. "Keep the throne warm for me," she said, followed by a tantalizing smirk. Had this been any other scene, had she been any person else, he would have painted the walls with her blood just then. But not her. Never her.

He laughed. "That I will. You should be preparing yourself. I have two of my best kingsguard standing at the gates awaiting you, Ser Niket and Ser Tinsley, should you change your mind about protective company."

"The only protection I need is my own skin," she said sharply, then she pulled the silk sheets back and climbed out of the bed. From behind her, she heard Ulfric plop back down with a content, affectionate sigh.

Thorunn was dressed for traveling. She wore thick, comfortable furs accompanied by a woolen cloak and hood. An outfit for flexibility and warmth rather than protection, for the further East one travels, the colder Skyrim gets. That cold came fast and hard. Aegetha, her mount, was saddled and eagerly waiting to stretch his legs out. Aegetha always did hate being cooped up in stables. Luckily for him, he had a mistress that scarcely stayed in one place for long periods of time.

More to carry her bags than anything, she had decided to bring along Ser Niket and Ser Tinsley. Their horses were bulky enough to lug her heavy armor and weapons easily; Thorunn's own sheath had only an axe forged from Skyforge steel and her shield was not formidable enough to hold against a particularly tough enemy. She only anticipated giant spiders and wolves, perhaps a sabertooth if she was lucky.

Her pack was full with books regarding the Dark Brotherhood she'd picked up from Ulfric's private library. She'd read them during the inn stops and little more. Reading was for scholars and mages, not warriors and pillagers.

The kingsguard accompanying her quickly became an annoyance. Tinsley was a young man, a few years younger than Thorunn herself she suspected, and talking was his favorite thing to do. He had to comment on everything, from the ingredients the trees they passed supplied to the history of the fortresses they passed. "And _this_ one belonged to Lord Galahan the Feeble," he'd say as if Thorunn cared. "He was slain by his own fishwives! Bashed his head in with sacks full of trout, the stories say."

Niket was an older man, so stern and serious that merely looking his way made Thorunn's blood boil. He always tilted his nose up at her. Each time he did that, it made her want to cut it off. A large thing it was, too, with a long and nasty scar running across it horizontally. Thorunn hoped that where ever that scar came from, it showed him a new realm of pain. If there was one thing she couldn't stand, it was lesser men thinking they were better than her.

They were on their way to Dragon Bridge to speak with Commander Maro, their greatest lead on the Dark Brotherhood. Thorunn had shared a drink with him once during her travels, long before Alduin was slain. From what little she remembered, Maro was a paranoid man with a revenge complex and a nasty glare, but he always got the job done. "Should I ever fail my job, I will gladly be put to the headsman's axe," he'd told her. He was a man worthy of respect.

Luckily, Dragon Bridge was not far from Solitude. The less time they spent on the road, the lower risk of danger they weren't properly equipped for.

The weather treated them fairly. The air was cool and comfortable, the sky clear and free of clouds that might hide an incoming dragon, though the dragons rarely attacked unless provoked since Alduin's demise. Thorunn was reminded of the egg she had soaking in a fire back in the Blue Palace. Thorunn trusted the task of keeping the hearth heated to Ulfric.

She'd developed a strange bond with the dragon's egg. Perhaps it was the _dov_ within her that made her feel almost motherly in regards to it. Sometimes she'd wake in the midst of night, calm as an eagle perched upon an untouchable mountain, and without really controlling and thinking of her movements, she'd walk into the guest room the dragon's hearth was in. She'd sit cross-legged at the foot of it and merely stare into the fire, nursing the overwhelming urge to reach into it, bare hand and all.

When she had her fill, she'd simply stand up and walk back to bed. Ulfric knew nothing of these occurrences. Perhaps they were only dreams, Thorunn considered.

Dragon Bridge came into view, the stone archway above the bridge of a dragon's head clear as the blue sky above.

"Have you heard the story behind that archw-" Tinsley began, but Thorunn had had enough.

"Tinsley! Shut. Up." she ordered through clenched teeth. She heard the lad's jaw audibly clamp shut behind her.

They crossed into the village without question. The houses were of typical Skyrim make, sturdy and practical. Outside of those houses, children ran amok, chasing dogs or each other, while their parents harvested plants in their farms or milked goats and their grandparents sat on porches and enjoyed the scenery or tanned leather. Haafingar guards patrolled the length of the road, watchful eyes obscured by steel helmets. Travelers passed through often enough that they barely turned their heads as Thorunn and her kingsguard made their way to the Penitus Oculatus Outpost.

She dismounted Aegetha just outside the building. She commanded her guards to remain outside; the last thing she wanted was for these Empire lechers to see her, a well known Stormcloak, as a threat. The Penitus Oculatus guards stationed on either side of the door turned their heads to watch her as she approached and knocked at the door. She paid the guards no mind.

The door opened, revealing the Commander she'd last seen as a fairly young and handsome fellow. Now he looked like he'd aged twenty years, with gray hairs dotting his dark hair and scraggly beard. Dark bags hung under his eyes and his fingers trembled easily. "Yes, what is it?" he said wearily with a tired sigh. His eyes snapped back and refocused when he saw who stood before him. "D-Dragonborn? I... yes, of course, of course. The Emperor's cousin. Come in." He stepped aside, and Thorunn entered.

The place was abnormally clean, like he'd been polishing everything until it shone to keep his mind off of whatever had happened to provoke those gray hairs and slouched shoulders. "I assume you're here about the Brotherhood," he said, closing the door.

Thorunn stood in front of the hearth, watching the bright flames lick and dance around the stone. "Yes," she confirmed, not taking her eyes off of the fire. How could something so dangerous be so comforting? Fire provided warmth as well as injury, she supposed.

Commander Maro sighed heavily and took a seat at the round wooden table. He straightened out the letters atop it, though they had already been the epitome of neat. "They killed my son," he said, so softly that Thorunn had to strain her ears to hear him. "He was out verifying the security of the Holds. He was only doing his job, a job that I assigned him. They took him in the night. Stabbed his back and left his blood to warm the dirt. Even left a letter on his body, speaking falsely of a thwarted assassination attempt."

Thorunn side-eyed him, and from that she could see him bow his head and hear the sharp intake of breath. Her eyes returned to the fire. "I know you are with grief," she said as gently as she could manage. "but I need you to cooperate with me so we can put an end to this. Do you know who the Brotherhood seeks?"

A fire erupted in Maro's eyes as fierce as the one dancing before Thorunn. This was the Maro she'd gotten blind drunk with so many months ago, vengeful and spiteful. "Yes, yes," he answered, louder the second time. "Destroy them we must. They seek the Emperor. My son is dead and my wife blames me for it; she treats me as if I am dead to her, and I might as well be. The Emperor is the only thing I have left to protect." He stood, abrupt and sharp. "Dragonborn, if the Emperor falls, do not let me tremble when I fall on my own blade."

The likelihood of her being present during this fall was slim to none, but she would kindle whatever fire remained in this man. "Of course," she rebuffed, the faintest of smirks on her lips. She rested a hand on the hilt of her axe, out of habit more than anything. "The Emperor." she repeated quietly, entranced with the flames once more.

A tense silence ensued, foreboding and calm as the wind before a storm. She turned her head to address Commander Maro at once, her smirk thick with passive aggression. "Let us burn a brotherhood then, shall we?"


	12. The Road Ahead

The night was cold and lonesome. Thorunn hadn't expected the absence of Ulfric to feel like the absence of a weapon, and she'd been carrying one of those constantly ever since she was seven years old. Commander Maro had been generous- or rather, desperate -enough to allow Thorunn and her companions to sleep within the Outpost for the night. The beds were hard and prickly, made from straw, but Thorunn adjusted quickly. It wasn't until very recently that she had a taste of a comfortable bed, anyway.

She and her squad of two slept in the cellars among the other Penitus Oculatus agents. Thorunn laid awake for some time, thinking of her betrothed, and the dragon's egg, and the future that lay ahead. After hours of unrest, she got up to light a torch without regard for the other figures trying to sleep. She hung it above her bed and, after that, had no trouble falling asleep.

But the sun was relentless and rose early still. Goat horns sounded from outside, the morning rise. Tinsley and Niket were already eating breakfast when Thorunn rose from the steps, heavy-lidded and messy-haired. Commander Maro had no food in front of him, only a bottle of untouched mead. She had a feeling that many of his mornings since his son's death consisted of the same appetite.

Her companions were bickering already, so she joined him instead of them. For a while, they said nothing to each other while Thorunn chewed a piece of charred jerkey and sipped at a cup of warm, honeyed mead that melted on her taste buds.

"I never took you for a Stormcloak," Maro said finally, soft-spoken. No hostility was audible in his tone, surprisingly. The Penitus Oculatus were the sworn protectors of the Emperor, savagely loyal to the Empire. The outpost in Dragon Bridge was the only outpost they had in all of Skyrim. It was a wonder they remained at all now that Ulfric was crowned.

"Why is that?" Thorunn inquired, tracing the rim of her mug with her thumb.

Maro smiled hardly, not raising his eyes. "You seemed so loyal when first I met you. The morning you left, I kept thinking, 'if one woman in all of Skyrim is loyal to the Empire, it will be that one.' I never was a good judge of character, I suppose."

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "Evidently." she snapped. "I am loyal to my country, not to your Empire. They were never supposed to be in Skyrim in the first place."

Maro shrugged, picking at the cork on his bottle of mead. "Perhaps," was all he uttered. His tone showed no real interest in the conversation and Thorunn dropped it, her pride slightly wounded but not broken.

His opinion on her loyalty would not matter when a crown laid upon her head. More minutes passed, nothing to occupy the silence beyond the crackling of the hearth and the quiet chatter of the other inhabitants. When the third goat horn sounded, marking the third hour of the day, Thorunn brought up what she'd came here for.

"Tell me all you know of the Dark Brotherhood in Skyrim," she asked of him.

Maro cleared his throat, leaning back in his chair. "They preside in Falkreath, though we cannot touch them without the passcode to the great stone door that guards their hideout. The door proposes a riddle that we do not have the answer to, and it is the only thing standing between us and their annihilation. Their leader is a Nordic woman by the name of Astrid. She is as slippery as the night, I tell you."

 _Falkreath_ lingered in Thorunn's thoughts. Her hometown, the burial place of her parents and her three stillborn siblings, the residence of all her childhood friends now grown. She swallowed the dread seeping into her heart. "What else?" she pressed.

"Their contracts are delivered by the Night Mother to what they call a Listener," Maro continued. "Up until recently, they did not have a Listener, hearing of the Black Sacrament through rumor alone. I'm not entirely certain who this Listener is, but I know that they are the direct killer of my son and Vittoria Vici."

 _The nobody,_ Thorunn thought, though she didn't voice that thought in particular. "I met him at the wedding," she said. "He was a Nord, slender and dressed in black. After piercing Vici with an arrow between the eyes, one of his lackeys showed up. An Argonian."

"Pah, it makes no difference. They'll all die the same. We need to devise a plan before they strike again."

Thorunn thought quickly on her next move: Ulfric never explicitly stated that the letter from the Emperor was not to be shared, and he had implied that she could use whatever resource she needed to get the job done. "The High King may be able to bring the Emperor here to Skyrim. If he is truly their target, it would be easy to lure them out."

"We will not use the Emperor as bait," Maro stated matter-of-factly.

"Then I suggest you propose a better plan, and fast."

He went quiet as he thought. "We wait," he said simply. "and we pray. That is all we can do."

Thorunn's anger began to flare. "I will not sit ducks while my kinsmen's blood is spilled at the hands of _assassins_ ," she spat. "The Blue Palace has civilian hands clawing at it for a chance to spit at the king's feet with the notion that the Stormcloaks murdered Vittoria Vici. This matter needs to be resolved _now_."

She should have expected this. An Imperial would leap at the chance for the Stormcloaks to be implicated. Commander Maro most of all, being one of the Emperor's chief lackeys. Of course, she fumed. _Of course._

He merely looked at her, which made her fingers twitch with the urge to punch him. "Patience is something you should become acquainted with. If you believe you can handle this better, by all means, but do not involve me in your recklessness."

Thorunn stood up with enough force that her chair fell over with an ear-ringing clank. "Call it what you will, Imperial. Tinsley! Niket! We leave now."

She marched out of the building, punching the door open while flanked by her scrabbling kingsguard. She already had all the information she needed. "We're heading to Falkreath immediately," she said, not looking to see if they were listening. Aegetha stood tied up to the post, waiting patiently. He didn't object when Thorunn hoisted herself onto him.

"B-But m'lady, we're not equipped well for such a long trip," spluttered Tinsley as he got onto his steed.

" _But m'lady, we're not equipped well for_ \- shut up and ride," Thorunn snapped.

He did just that.


	13. Childhood Laments

There was only one enemy Thorunn faced that she could never defeat: Her own temper. She knew it had little to do with herself and everything to do with the dragon that coursed through her veins. Ever since she was a girl, she'd have bouts of anger so fierce and damning that sometimes, on the really bad days, she would black out, unaware of what she was doing. It got so bad once that her father had no choice but to lock her in the house for three days straight.

Thorunn hated the indoors. The largest palace in existence was still too small. She yearned for real air, for open sky and damp grass beneath her feet. She spent those three days breaking things and screaming and biting a cloth hard enough to break her teeth. Her father had to replace all the dishes once her flame had cooled, but he never uttered a word of complaint. That was the strangest thing about her father. He was always so calm, so collected. Thorunn wished she had that.

She had grown out of those severe tantrums, but she was still a hot head and her temper was still her downfall. Now, as she rode in the middle of her kingsguard on the road to Falkreath, she regretted cutting off Commander Maro as abruptly as she did. Were that her pride was not so important to her, she would have turned back and apologized. She physically could not turn her horse around. She needed to go to Falkreath, even if it wasn't for the Dark Brotherhood.

They'd been travelling for two days now. During the night, they'd make camp on the side of the road or if there was an inn nearby, they'd reside there. They were running low on food, having only prepared for two days tops. Four days now they were on the road. They could not live off of stale bread and jerkey.

But Falkreath was nearing. Thorunn could already smell the signature scents of her hometown: Morning dew, preservation oils, Old Haelga's lilacs, damp soil. It smelled of home.

Beside her, Niket wrinkled his nose. "It reeks of the dead," he complained.

He was right, of course. Thorunn was merely accustomed to the smell so much that she had come to like it. Falkreath was known for its graveyard. That same graveyard housed the corpses of many people dear to Thorunn, including her parents, her grandfather, her three siblings that only lasted minutes outside of the womb. Thorunn was the sole survivor of the Aseldottir family. Falkreath was a ghost town to her.

The town was exactly as she'd remembered it: Dreary and haunted, the home of the dead. The few people that were outside on their porches or harvesting their crops looked up in shock and awe as Thorunn rode through. Aegetha moved slowly, allowing his mistress to drink in their surroundings for reasons he did not have the capacity to understand. She recognized many of the faces staring up at her.

Haelga was exactly as she remembered her. Old and withered, with what little wisps of white hair she had tied into a ponytail at the nape of her neck. Her eyes were a pale blue and her frown as stern as Thorunn remembered. This woman had been old even when Thorunn was a girl. Sometimes it seemed like she had never been young. Now, she was even more shriveled up and wrinkled, her back so hunched that her chin hung to her caved in chest. She sat in a wooden rocking chair, surrounded by her purple lilacs and her memories. Her fingers worked a pair of needles as she knitted, humming a lullaby Thorunn easily recognized as the one Haelga would sing at the graves of her children.

Then there was Lod, the blacksmith with the nice wife that used to give Thorunn cookies and sweet rolls on her name-day. Thorunn couldn't see that wife now. Most likely holed up inside; she never did come outside much. Lod had aged since last Thorunn saw him, but so had they all.

Runil, the priest of Arkay that delivered the burial rites to all six of the deceased Aseldottirs. Someday, he would deliver Thorunn's burial rite as well. He was a kind man that regularly sent gifts to Thorunn and her family after each of her mother's stillborn children. The gifts were cheap and simple, but meant the whole world to a five-year old little girl that couldn't understand why the Nine wouldn't let her have a little brother or sister.

The others were only faces with no names. She recognized a few of her childhood friends, including a mean-spirited boy she got into a lot of mischief with named Mathies. Another man, Delacourt, carried a lute as he walked past her towards the inn. He'd been a quiet, sweet boy that always questioned Thorunn's love of swordplay. Zaria, a Redguard girl, who would have sleepovers with Thorunn where they exchanged poorly-told spooky stories and tavern songs.

Not one of these people said a word to her.

Childhood was such a bittersweet thing. She'd had her fill. Her eyes lingered on the house she'd lived in as a girl, still sturdy and standing strong, but she did not stop. She had a job to do here. She whipped Aegetha's reins and the stallion took off in a gallop.

The door to the Dark Brotherhood sanctuary was not hard to find. Quite literally in front of her face, in fact. The door was heavy stone, certainly impenetrable through any means by force. Carved into the stone was a skull, and beneath it a red painting of a skeleton with several smaller skeletons at its feet- a representation of children, no doubt. A red hand print was stamped right in the middle of the door.

Thorunn slowed Aegetha into a walk as she approached the door. Once she was close enough, she hopped off of the horse, her companions following suit. Even Tinsley had nothing to say about this door, which gave Thorunn a sickly satisfaction. She unsheathed her axe and neared the door, jumping and gasping when the most ear-piercing shrill whispered voice came from the door.

"What is the music of life?" the door asked.

Thorunn had to resist the urge to cover her ears to block out the horrid sound of the voice, let alone know the answer to its riddle. Another new voice followed the shrill whisper of the door, but this voice was pleasant, a relieving contrast to the prior voice. Thorunn wanted to melt into that voice after the sound her ears just had to endure.

"The voice isn't as painful if you're supposed to be here," said the voice of honey coolly.

The sound of swords scraping against their scabbard as they were unsheathed reached her ears next, but that didn't bother her. She spun around, axe ready to be swung. Her shock turned to anger when she saw who was standing there with that familiar smirk on his lips, that casual posture as he stood with his back leaning against a tree with his ankles crossed. He twirled a dagger in between his fingers skillfully.

"You!" Thorunn shouted, then charged at him.

She couldn't even process. He moved like water, swift as a snake and smooth as silk. He dodged her swing effortlessly and gracefully, swerving then spinning and ending up behind her. She spun around as quick as she could, and he was still watching her with that signature smirk of his, twirling his dagger. He clicked his tongue.

"You should leash that reckless anger, my dear," he said.

Two swords came down on him, but he dodged them as elegantly as he'd dodged Thorunn. By Talos, she hated rogues. The nobody vanished in thin air, just as he'd done in Solitude. Thorunn tried to keep her eyes on all of her angles which only made it harder. She kept her axe at the ready, her two companions doing the same. They formed a circle to better watch all angles.

He came out of no where. He was there, then he was gone, leaving behind nothing but blood pouring from Tinsley's neck. Gasping and spluttering, Tinsley brought a hand to his throat. Red liquid washed over his pale fingers. The last look on his face was that of shock, and his body fell as easily as the autumn leafs.

"No!" Thorunn growled, feeling a sense of desperation she had not felt since that carriage ride to Helgen. She and Niket put their backs together, eyes darting fervently as they tried to keep up with the wind. The nobody was everywhere and nowhere all at once, flashing in and out of view, his dark laughter ringing and then cutting off as abruptly as it'd started.

Finally, Thorunn had had enough and started aimlessly swinging her axe, not caring how ridiculous she looked. Her axe swung through vacant air and the nobody's laughter turned genuine. "Behind you," a voice whispered at her shoulder. She whipped around all too soon: Her axe cut right through Ser Niket's gut.

Thorunn gasped and released her axe, forgetting there was still an enemy standing. Horrified at what she'd done, she brought her trembling hands up to cover her mouth. The axe stayed put in Niket's gut, blood spilling over it and coating it in life essence wrenched free at her own hand. "I'm sorry," she whispered, unable to tear her eyes away from Niket's. They were wide and shocked, blood trickling down from his agape mouth. "I'm so sorry..."

He fell to the ground with a deep thud that made Thorunn flinch. Inhaling shaky breaths, she slowly brought a hand down to her shield and unclasped it. Her fingers fumbled at the grip and she struggled to get a firm hold of it, knuckles going white with effort. She held onto that shield as if it were the hand of Talos, and in that moment, perhaps it was.

There was nothing but the natural sounds of the forest. Nesting birds chirping quietly to one another, leafs rustling in the wind, the pitter patter of a squirrel running along a tree branch, her own heavy breathing and drumming heartbeat. Thorunn's eyes tenuously scrolled across the scenery until she'd completed a whole three-sixty. Nothing. There was nothing, and nobody, apart from her two fallen companions and the ear-grating stone door marking the entrance to the Brotherhood sanctuary.

The need to end this man was overwhelming. Her core was going to burst if she did not feel his blood on her hands soon.

"I am only doing a job, you know," The voice that once sounded like pleasantry to her now made her want to tear someone's entrails. She turned her head sharply towards the sound, finding the nobody perched on a tree branch too high for her to reach. She growled beneath her breath but made no move to further damage her dignity. "Killing is only okay when you do it, is that right? I see no difference between an assassin and a soldier." he continued. There was no smirk and no passive aggression underlying his low voice.

"There is a difference between killing and murdering."

"Is there?" He propped one foot up on the branch. Something sad crossed his eyes, coming and leaving with the wind. "Indulge me."

Thorunn's eyes narrowed. The splinters in the handle of her shield pricked at her skin as she tightened her grip even more, sticky drops of blood painting her palm. "I kill so that others may live," she said after a long moment.

"And the Brotherhood does not?" She wanted to smack the satisfaction off of his face. He'd expected her to say that exact thing and had long since prepped his argument, she could tell. "Ofttimes our clients call on us to take out someone that seeks their life. Is that so different from slaughtering hundreds in a war for a skewed matter of freedom?"

"Draw your weapon and say that again," she dared.

Disappointment was wrought in his expression. What he was disappointed in, she could not tell. "Look at yourself," he demanded, a sudden bite to his words. "You stand with no weapon. You know that the only way you'll be able to kill me or take me as hostage is if I want you to. You understand that the only thing I have to do to have an entire fleet of assassins on your tail is utter a passcode. Why do you still fight with no hope of victory?"

"I will keep fighting for as long as I draw breath," she said, and this was a question she knew exactly how to answer. "That's the difference between assassins and soldiers." The bar of selfishness was thick. The blood that ran through the crevice flowed thicker. This was the moment where an assassin would flee where a soldier would remain.

He stared down at her, lips pressed together. "I see," he responded slowly. The weight of a decision teetered in his gaze. Upon reaching the apparent choice, he leaped from the branch, landing a few feet in front of Thorunn. She made no move to rashly attack him, and he didn't seem to fear she would. "Then allow me to fulfill your duty as a soldier. No games, no tricks. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth."

"Blood must be repaid in blood." she finished.

He nodded, smirk returning. Thorunn kept her eyes on him as she reached down to yank her axe from Niket's midsection. A hideous squelching sound emitted from the action, but she did not cringe, having heard these noises as much as she'd glanced at the back of her hand. The moment she rose, the dance begun.

She barely managed to block his blow with her shield. His twin daggers- Daedric, by the look of them -moved as swiftly as deer and his feet were as disciplined as the finest veterans. Essentially, the only thing Thorunn had against him was raw strength. She hoped it would be enough. Her hand was glued to the handle of the shield at this point. She had no trouble holding the shield against the nobody's rapid swings.

The moment his flurry came to a halt, she pummeled her shield into his chest. Taking advantage of his stumble, she swung her axe, but he recovered too swiftly and parried the blow with his dagger. She was too close to him, he realized with a jolt of panic in his eyes. He jumped back, then took a few more steps backward to secure his recover. Thorunn put even more distance between them for reasons he would soon feel in every aching quarter of his body.

She opened her mouth, drawing from the will of Talos and the air around her. The dovah within her awoke, creeping up to her voice and roaring in unison with her. "Fus, Ro, Dah!" she Shouted, all the force of unrelenting thunder hailing from her Voice in an orb of raw power that sharply knocked into the nobody and sent him flying. There were no trees nor parapets to stop his momentum, so he kept tumbling until Thorunn could no longer see him.

She wasted no time. She threw herself onto Aegetha's saddles and whipped the reins, signaling the horse to go as fast as his legs would allow him. He jolted into a sprint towards the direction the assassin had been sent. As the horse moved, Thorunn kept her eyes on everything at once, searching for any sign of abnormal movement within the forest.

She saw a red glint and jerked Aegetha's reins, forcing him into an abrupt halt. Her eyes lodged on the glint, waiting to see it again. Instead, she saw a silhouette in red and black leather armor dragging their weight across the field. She hopped off of her horse and marched towards the figure.

Blood soaked a patch of his blond hair and leaked from his nose. Broken bones were inevitable. She paid these injuries no mind, reaching down to grab a handful of his hair and jerk his head up to force him into looking at her. "There's one more difference between assassins and soldiers," she said, leaning down close to make sure he didn't mishear her. "Justice always wins."

At that, she yanked him to his feet. He hollered in pain. "And justice is not mine to wield, not with you," she said. She put her arm around him, lugging his arm around her shoulders. She guided him to Aegetha and effortlessly hoisted him onto the saddle. She got on behind him, tugging at the reins.

The nobody didn't have enough strength remaining to hold himself upright. Groaning, he fell forward. Aegetha whinnied in discontent but made no move to throw them off; Thorunn's arms were enough to hold the nobody in place.

"I'm taking you to the king," Thorunn said, not caring whether he was even conscious at this point or not. "Your fate belongs to him."


	14. The Strings of Life

This time when Thorunn passed through the village wrought with nostalgia, the civilians gave her their undivided attention. As they should, considering there was a beaten and bloodied man in Dark Brotherhood leathers sitting in front of her on the saddle of her stallion. Blood painted her own armor, not entirely the assassin's or her own. She wanted out of these furs as soon as possible.

She paid no mind to the villagers she passed, having her mind set on one location. The priest of Arkay she sought would no doubt be in the Hall of the Dead. The man in Thorunn's arms was slowly dying, his breathing coming in sharp, alarming intakes. She couldn't have him die like this. He didn't deserve to die of battle; he deserved to die on his knees at the hand of a man that was as inconvenient as the dirt beneath his shoes. As far as Thorunn knew, Runil was the only person remotely similar to a healer within Falkreath Hold.

Runil was a white-haired Altmer, never seen outside of his monk robes. He fought alongside the Aldmeri Dominion during the Great War, she knew from what her parents told her. The only thing that kept Thorunn from turning her nose up at him as she did all Aldmeri agents was that Runil was also a worshiper of Talos. It was true, then, that Talos's protection was mighty.

But politics and religion didn't quite matter right now. What mattered was that the elf was trained enough in Restoration magic to help Thorunn out. She reached the Hall of the Dead within moments and slowed Aegetha, then carefully climbed down from the stallion, strategically taking the assassin with her. She practically carried him into the building.

Runil was inside, bowed before a shrine to Arkay with his assistant, Kust, next to him. Both men uttered words of prayer too softly for Thorunn to make out. She hated to interrupt such a critical task to the Nine, but this was an emergency.

"Runil," she called as she kicked the door open, snatching his attention. His head whipped around and his eyes widened at the sight of her, growing even wider when he saw the body in her arms.

"Come, come," he ushered, jumping to his feet with surprising swiftness for his age. "Kust, get the bench. Hurry now." The Nordic assistant dressed in well-made Iron armor dragged a bench over to the middle of the room, and Thorunn placed the nobody onto it as gently as she could.

Runil's hands were deft and glowing with comforting pink magic as they hovered above the assassin's chest. The priest uttered incantations as he worked, a crease of concentration between his thin brows. Thorunn watched as life slowly returned to the nobody. His chest rose and fell more easily and color returned to his cheeks- what little he naturally had, anyway. His eyes did not open, but they fluttered softly beneath his lids as if he were dreaming. Thorunn found herself wondering what sort of pictures swam beneath them.

When Runil finished, he lowered his hands and regarded Thorunn pensively. "This man wears the armor of the Void," he said quietly. "Perhaps it is not within my right to ask, but why would you make an effort to save the life of an assassin?"

"The High King would prefer to bring justice to this man himself," Thorunn responded. There was a pinch of roboticness to her tone, as if this had been what she was programmed to say and not something of her own accord. This mechanical switch was something all soldiers had. They were weapons before they were people, and weapons did not think before they were swung.

Runil watched her uncertainly for a moment. "Ah," he said, the pieces of the puzzle sliding into place. "Vittoria Vici. Of course. The Stormcloaks are accused and this man is the only piece of evidence you have that her death was not done by Stormcloak hands."

Thorunn nodded slowly.

The High Elf took in a deep breath. "He will need rest before you put him back on a horse, and do not leave with him I recommend searching and relieving him of any weapons. These assassins are armed to the teeth in both poisons and weapons." He walked over to an end table, removing a wool cloak from the drawer and placing it at the nobody's feet. "Cover him up when you're finished. The nights of Skyrim are not generous." He turned, heading for the living quarters. He almost disappeared behind the doorway when he stopped and turned to face her for a last minute instruction. "Oh, and don't leave him unattended. You wouldn't want him waking up and sneaking off while you're asleep." With a dismissive nod, the priest vanished, and Kust soon followed.

Thorunn let out a heavy sigh, looking down at the slumbering assassin. The blood that stained his face and hair was drying, turning his blond hair a diluted red where the wound on his head lay. She supposed it wouldn't hurt to clean him up a bit. She was going to have to remove his armor to search him for weapons, anyway, and it was going to be a long night.

She took a cloth from her satchel and dipped it into a wash basin resting on Arkay's altar. She wrung it out before walking back to the assassin, sitting down on the edge of the bench and dabbing the blood off his face with surprising gentility. He didn't stir; instead, he seemed to melt at her touch, his comatose state relaxing even more. She continued to rub his face in soft, rhythmic gestures until his skin was free of any blood. She realized only then how porcelain and smooth his skin was underneath all that grime, blemished only by blond stubble on the lower half of his face.

Too bad, then, that he would die.

She looked upon his face a moment longer, not quite sure why. This man was a murderer. More than that, he was an assassin. Him and his like relished in the art of killing more than a poacher, but even so, there was something undeniably human in the way he held himself. Thorunn supposed he had to have been something before he was an assassin. That she was curious about such a mundane thing made her want to cringe. This is the enemy, she reminded herself as she stood up abruptly to freshen the washrag.

After cleaning his hair deliberately without looking at his face, she began peeling back his armor. She rarely wore light armor, and when she did, it was only to travel and it certainly didn't have this many confusing buckles. She found two daggers at the belt of his trousers beneath the armor that she didn't dare handle until she had gloves on. Handling the daggers of an assassin bare-handed was never a good idea, given the likelihood of them being painted with poison.

She had to lift him up to effectively remove the armor but, luckily, he didn't wake nor stir. It was hard for her to be gentle enough to keep him that way, having grown accustomed to blundering through every puzzle she'd been through in her life. She still wasn't sure if he was only sleeping or if he was in something akin to a coma. She prayed the former was not the case. They needed to be on their way to Solitude as soon as possible.

She discarded his armor by shoving it under a bench carelessly. With him laid out before her in nothing but a baggy white unlaced tunic and brown trousers, she could only see a few things of note: A necklace with ten capsules of poisons with various labels rested on his neck, which she removed carefully, not wanting any of the capsules to break, and the daggers at his waistband as well as small knives secured into bands around his bruised wrists.

She removed them all with gloved hands and turned away momentarily to add them to the pile of armor beneath the bench. When she turned back, the nobody's pale blue eyes were open, and his head was turned, watching her passively.

She jumped, but no noise left her mouth. "You're awake," she breathed, relaxing.

He said nothing, continuing to watch her.

She froze, standing rigid. What could she do? After watching him in such a peaceful state, she had a hard time not feeling like something intimate had occurred between them. Not the sort of intimacy she shared with Ulfric behind closed doors, of course, but like the feeling she got when she watched a dragon fly overhead without ever dipping low enough to pose any semblance of a threat.

"Why?" he said finally.

Her brow furrowed. "'Why' what?"

"Why am I awake?" He sat up a bit too quickly and Thorunn's hand instinctively moved to the hilt of her sword. He moved more slowly now, holding his hands up in surrender. She slowly removed her hand from the iron hilt, but her hand didn't move far. His eyes remained on hers the whole time. "What did you do to me? When you opened your... your mouth. What was that?"

The power a Dragonborn wielded was not commonly known, especially to those who did not seek it out. "It's called Shouting," she answered. "It's a weapon of the voice inherently used by dragons."

He chuckled softly, lowering his hands onto his lap. "Well, it hurts like hell," he quipped. He paused, eyes falling to the ground as he fiddled idly with his thumbs. "Dragon Queen. I wonder what the dragons think of that title being bestowed onto a human."

Thorunn shrugged. Sometimes she didn't know if she was human at all.

"Do you think they'll call you a usurper and try to kill you?" he asked thoughtfully.

She knew what he was taking a jab at, but she refused to humor him. "I doubt it," she replied.

The shadows cast by the candles danced on the wall, emanating a cozy lighting that bounced off of the nobody's pale eyes. For a while, he said nothing, his eyes refocusing on the ground. Thorunn never cared to know what was happening in a man's mind, but right now, she never wanted more than to hear another's thoughts.

"I'm going to die, aren't I?" he voiced softly.

Yes, she wanted to say, but the word never got past the knot in her throat. "I don't know," she answered. "It's not my decision."

He outright laughed at that. "Life and death is always a decision," The vulnerability in his tone had vanished, replaced by something cocky. "Right now, you hold my strings. What will you do with them?"

She arched a brow. "I will hand them to the king."

He scoffed. "I didn't expect the Dragonborn to be so submissive."

"Loyal is the appropriate term," Thorunn snapped impatiently. She was a lot of things. Submissive was never one of them, not even to Ulfric Stormcloak. Even so, she couldn't help but question herself. The Dragonborn bowed nor bent to no one. Had she been oblivious while she knelt to a mortal man?

When she snapped back, the nobody was smirking with satisfaction. He could see the battle waging in her expression. "I'll ask you again: what will you do with them?"

She knew what she was supposed to say now. "You don't call the shots here," she stated coldly. She sensed a game where there was one. "You are going to Solitude, and you are going to be judged by the High King. What you think of this will mean nothing when your head rolls from your body." She marched over and picked up the wool cloak, shoving it into his chest. "You're awake now. It's time to move."

He was still smiling by the time his back was facing her as he left the Hall of the Dead with Thorunn at his back.


	15. The Red of Night

The trek back to Solitude was long and tedious. Thorunn had fully expected the nobody to make several escape attempts, but much to her surprise, he made no effort to run away. Instead, he rode quietly on the horse next to her, his wrists shackled with Thorunn holding the reins of his mare. That mare once belonged to Ser Niket. While she was still in shock regarding the ordeal, she knew she had to remain focused on the living. She had no choice but to make do with what she had.

Occasionally, she and the nobody would exchange small talk. "Do you enjoy slaying dragons? Isn't that similar to killing your kin?" he'd asked at some point as they rode along the path next to Lake Ilinalta.

"I do not take pleasure in it, no," she answered honestly.

"Then how did you kill so many?"

While she gathered up a response, she stared at the horizon ahead. Hills, cobblestone pathways, green and orange grasses, patches of various flowers; all these things awaited the road ahead. "Before I slayed Alduin, he'd been wielding some sort of sinister magic to command the dragons to attack cities and any breathing thing they passed. I enjoyed killing dragons then, believing they deserved nothing less than the same fate their victims suffered. But after Alduin was destroyed, something changed in them- they're almost docile now, attacking only when provoked or when they need to hunt.

"Have you ever seen a dragon fly overhead?" she asked him suddenly, watching him from the corner of her eye.

"I have not been so lucky," he responded.

She nodded, expecting his answer. "It's fleeting, but it's an intense moment. They could destroy you and the land you walk on just by breathing, but they don't. If there is ever a balance in peace and war, it's in this moment."

He went quiet. For some time, the only sound accompanying them was the hooves of the horses. Torch bugs were starting to appear as the sun begin to set, painting the sky with orange and yellow hues. "That sounds extraordinary," he said with unexpected genuineness.

She wasn't sure why she'd told him. He was going to die, that much was for certain; what harm was there in giving him his last tidbits of company? They rode on, eventually stopping at an inn for the night. Thorunn gave a few coins to a sellsword to watch over the nobody while she slept, though she doubted she needed to. When she woke, the assassin was still there, shackled and sleeping peacefully on the floor next to the bed.

After breakfast, they were moving again. This time, they spoke of their toughest fights. Thorunn learned that the nobody deemed their duel against each other his most painful. Thorunn wanted to tell him he didn't know the beginning of pain; transforming into a werewolf was the single most excruciating experience for the human body. Bones broke and fractured, reforming new, stronger and bigger and reshaped bones. But she couldn't tell the nobody that, not even when they were on his way to his death.

"Will I learn your name before your death?" she asked him as they neared their second evening. They'd spent the day talking of anything and everything, neither of them preferring the silence that crept up whenever they stopped speaking. Thorunn had been in too many battles to ever want a silent moment. In war, silence meant the calm before the storm. She imagined the nobody wouldn't want to spend his last days to himself either.

"Perhaps," he responded. Throughout the day, his tone had remained conversational and even friendly, but now it had adopted its usual distance. Thorunn chose not to comment.

Solitude had only been without the Dragonborn for just shy of two weeks. With a quickened heart rate, Thorunn remembered that her engagement to Ulfric would be cemented in only a few day's time, if that. She imagined it would be put off in favor of dealing with the Dark Brotherhood menace, but after having waited so long, she could stand another week.

The guards immediately came to her aid when they saw she was with a prisoner. Thorunn realized she had forgotten he was a prisoner at all, almost objecting when the guards took him away. She forced herself back into that cool exterior, giving herself a reminder as to who she was, who he was, and why he was here. She dismounted her stallion and handed the reins to the stablemaster outside the gates, then followed behind the guards hauling the assassin into the city.

It would only take a couple weeks for word to spread all over Skyrim. Thorunn could hear the words on the lips of wanderers already: After being accused of ordering his agents to slay the Emperor's cousin, Ulfric Stormcloak takes hostage who he claims to have been the true assailant: A Dark Brotherhood assassin.

At least it would get them off the backs of the Stormcloaks. Thorunn would have to inform Ulfric that the two men he'd sent with her were dead. She decided she would leave out the part where she was the one to accidentally sink her blade into Niket's life. As the gates opened, she saw that Ulfric had been awaiting her return, dressed in a simple green doublet embroidered with silver Stormcloak sigils along the hems, black trousers tucked into leather black boots, and a heavy velvet silver cloak that draped over his shoulder and fastened with a jeweled brooch.

A stark contrast to Thorunn's traveling furs that she had yet to change out of. They'd gathered enough blood, sweat, and filth to make her look like a lowly peasant. The guards halted in front of the High King, shoving their prisoner forth for the man to have a look at. Thorunn lingered behind, not having yet been seen by her would-be betrothed. Ulfric said words to the assassin that Thorunn could not make out, a stern and kingly look in his eye that reminded Thorunn of why she supported his reign. His right hand rested on the hilt of the axe in his belt.

Once he was done saying what he needed to say to the now-prisoner, he shoved him back to the guards, and the men began dragging him down Solitude's length. Only with the men out of the way did Ulfric catch sight of Thorunn, and palpable relief flooded his expression as he rushed forth to take her in his arms, his finery be damned. She reacted instinctively, wrapping her arms around him and breaking down her exterior for a few moments of vulnerability to melt into him. She didn't mind that the entire marketplace had eyes on them, gossiping in hushed tones behind their hands.

It didn't matter if the public knew of their relations now. All of Skyrim would know soon enough. Thorunn was first to pull away, but she lingered to exchange a warm smile and a fond look before she stepped in stride with him on their way back to the Blue Palace.

"Would you indulge me of the details of your prolonged journey, dii krein?" he asked conversationally as they walked, Ulfric's kingsguard not far behind.

"Soon," Thorunn told him darkly, though her gloved fingers brushed against his reassuringly. "I need to rest and regain my strength, and then I need to hunt." The wolf in her was growing anxious. It wouldn't be long before the nightmares and the overwhelming urge to sink her teeth into flesh returned.

"Of course," Ulfric responded understandingly. "I will prepare a bath and a change of clothes for you when we reach the palace. After that, dinner will be prepared. I can have it delivered to the bed if you desire."

Thorunn didn't know how he managed to make even hapless doting sound dignified. "No, the bath and dinner will be enough," she said. She was not injured nor sick. She did not need her food delivered to her like a crippled elder.

He nodded curtly, expecting and accepting her decline. He was swift in his promises, telling her to sit in the cushioned recliner while he filled the tub with heated water. He even lit a stick of incense while Thorunn looked on with an amused smile. He helped her remove the sticky furs, undoing the clasps at the back and carefully removing the piece from her beaten shoulders. He didn't touch the amulets around her neck, as she preferred and as he knew.

He left her alone while she bathed, allowing her time to relax after the long and strenuous travel. Riding a horse for hours on end was more tiring than one might think; no thighs were meant to be in that position for so long. Ulfric returned a good thirty minutes later with a silk robe, ready to help his betrothed out of the tub though she did not call on his assistance as she stood and pulled the robe onto her body. She gave him a grateful smile as she stepped out, then placed a tender kiss on his lips that he readily accepted.

His hand found her waist, but he made no move to deepen the kiss or turn the mood sensual. He pulled away with a smile. "Food is waiting. Will you be hunting tonight, or on the morrow?"

"Tonight," she said, moving towards the door of the dimly lit room. The last remnants of day leaked through the pale curtains of the only window in the room. "The wolf is not a patient creature."

"As I've well learned," Ulfric quipped, smiling as he followed her into the dining hall.

Routine fell back into place as gracefully as the sun went down. Galmar Stone-Fist bickered with Thorunn as per usual about anything he could get his hands on, from whether steel or iron was better to whether a bear or a lion would win in a fight. When dinner concluded, Ulfric saw his beloved off with a feathery kiss against the lips, wishing her well on her impending hunt.

The rest of the night was red.


	16. A King's Hand

**Note: I'd appreciate feedback on the 'nobody''s character, i.e. whether he's likable, personal feelings, if he's interesting or if you find yourself drifting off whenever reading a part with him, etc. I'd like for him to play an important role later on (and** ** _no,_** **most likely not as a love interest) but I don't want to off readers by doing so. Any feedback is much appreciated!**

xxx

Upon returning from her marginally successful hunt, Thorunn returned to the Blue Palace dressed in rags she'd picked off of one of her victims. She returned to human form satisfied and bloated, her muscles and bones still aching from the excruciating transformation but relaxed. It would be another couple weeks before she had to kiss the moon again.

Her first transformation had easily been the most painful moments of her life. Her bones had never broke and reformed like that, immaculate and unblemished from the wolf. Her bones had always been more prone to breakage since then, but that was typical of a werewolf- human bones simply paled in comparison, and did not take kindly to the wolf eating at its marrow.

It was easier now, though, or rather, tolerable. The migraines, the restless sleep, the constant aching had all become background noise for Thorunn at this point.

After she'd changed back into the silk robe Ulfric had prepared for her, she climbed into bed next to him, carefully so as not to disturb his rest. He got little enough as it was. In the morning, she'd wake to his warmth and tell him about the journey, from walking out on Commander Maro, to the deaths of Tinsley and Niket, to the techniques of the assassin she'd picked up on while dueling him. The king would need to know, should the assassin challenge him or attempt a ballsy escape.

Thorunn did not wake by Ulfric's side.

Instead, she was laying curled up in front of the hearth in the study that the dragon's egg resided in. For a brief moment upon opening her eyes, she panicked, not knowing where she was or what she was doing here. She relaxed when she saw the flames and the egg resting within, its scaled surface gleaming. The egg's colors were a mix of orange and gold and red, the tint shifting when tilted into the light. Thorunn slowly leaned up, propping her weight up on her elbow, staring into the dancing flames.

She wanted to touch it. Reach into the fire bare-handed and remove the egg, cradle it to her like it was her own child. She didn't worry about it losing warmth, trusting the fire within her to kindle it. Losing track of her thoughts, she reached forward, the blazing heat creeping closer and closer to her skin. Her hand was close enough to brown when she heard the door open, to which she yanked her hand back, wondering what she was thinking.

She turned her head, finding a distressed Ulfric standing in the doorway. "You did not return to me last night," he stated angrily. "Do you not realize how much you worry me when you do that? What are you doing here?"

She furrowed her brow, perplexed by his anger. She didn't know what she was doing, in all honesty. She turned her head back towards the fire as if it held answers. "I do not know," she said quietly, tilting her head slightly. "I did return to you. Apparently I... did not stay."

He sighed, walking over to her with his anger cooling. He effortlessly pulled her to her feet, still holding onto her hands after she stood. "This egg... I believe it is doing something to you. Did the Greybeards answer your plea?"

"They did," she told him. "A mother bear cannot give you answers regarding human children, they'd said. Cryptic messages are their only use." She knew the message's meaning, of course. Essentially, they were telling her that they knew nothing of dragon eggs and that she was looking in the wrong place.

Ulfric looked down thoughtfully, pressing his lips together. "Perhaps they are telling you to seek out a dragon. Paarthurnax, maybe?"

"He seems to be the only viable option," she said, humoring the idea, "but we are not in any state to mount a journey to High Hrothgar. We can deal with it once this Dark Brotherhood maelstrom is dealt with."

He sighed, conflicted but defeated. "Yes. Speaking of which, the council has decided that the best way to approach this is to publicly display the assassin. Can we count on him to accept his crime?"

That Ulfric assumed Thorunn would know such a thing spoke numbers. She knew the answer. "Yes. He is not a man entirely without honor."

"Good. Should he not plead guilty, we will bear witness to his crimes. It will be enough to tide the public until we can acquire a written statement." He smoothed over his tunic. "Prepare yourself. His trial begins at midday. His execution will proceed once we have everything solidified."

Thorunn nodded shortly.

She'd dressed in armor for the occasion rather than finery. After Vittoria Vici's wedding, she didn't quite trust any public event to be free of battle. Besides, everyone in Skyrim knew what her nature was, and that was to fight. To see her in armor was not something out of the ordinary. She'd chosen steel armor with a dark blue cloak draping over her shoulder. Her hair was pinned back with many braids, as befits a Nord. At her belt was an axe and a dagger, and at her gauntlet was a shield beholding the Stormcloak coat of arms.

Much to her surprise, she did not take pleasure in seeing the assassin in the state he was in. He was in filthy rags, his blond hair matted and his eyes hooded. Bruises coated any skin visible to the eye and blood stained his tunic, all signs of torture. As he was dragged onto the stage, he had the look of a man who'd lost hope. Accompanying him on the stage was Thorunn herself, the High King, Galmar Stone-Fist, and several kingsguard.

Below were the people of Solitude among others that had came to the city to bear witness to the grim event. Many bore signs of Empire support, rather it be a red cloak or the Imperial sigil stitched into their clothes. The one thing they all had in common was the look of hunger for justice on their faces.

"People of Skyrim," began Ulfric, voice ringing out among the silently brooding crowd. "I bring before you the true murderer of Vittoria Vici. This man proves that the Stormcloaks do not stand behind this atrocious crime. The Stormcloaks do not bow to the Empire but nor do we seek to needlessly blemish their honor." What little honor they have, Thorunn would have added, but she nor Ulfric dared implement the Stormcloaks further by openly slandering the Empire.

Ulfric gestured to the man with his head bowed and his knees bent. "Before you stands a Dark Brotherhood assassin. I would ask your name, man."

The nobody said nothing. Thorunn couldn't say she was surprised.

"He asks your name, man," Galmar echoed in a growl from behind them, louder.

Nothing but a glare to the ground.

Ulfric clenched his jaw. "We will have it yet. Do you confess to your crimes?"

There was a pause while everyone held their breath. "I confess," said the nobody, low and dark.

"Very well. Would anyone object to this man's implication?" Ulfric's eyes searched through the crowd, darkening whenever his eyes landed on an Imperial bearer. Unfortunately for him, he could not fight for freedom and simultaneously damn those who would speak out against him.

No man spoke. Ulfric gave them forty seconds to gather and voice their objections, but none came. "With my blessing, this assassin's execution will go through in one week's time. Thank you for attending, and Talos bless you." He turned and gestured for the guards to handle the nobody, of which they did without question.

The crowd began dispersing. A few lingered to watch until the humiliated prisoner was out of sight, others stayed until Ulfric was out of sight. Thorunn could pick out bits and pieces of their chatter. "I think it's a farce," said one woman with an Amulet of Akatosh around her neck. "A set-up forged by Ulfric to make it look like it was not the Stormcloaks who did this. Well, they did, I tell you. They did." Another man spoke of justice: "I hope that assassin rots in Oblivion. He deserves no less, slaying a woman on her wedding day no less."

From what Thorunn gathered, the general public accepted that the Dark Brotherhood was behind the murder and not the Stormcloaks. Thorunn returned to the palace feeling like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders, but she made no mistake. Traitors lurked in shadows untouched by goodness, dark secrets hid in the crevices of smiles, and the times ahead were black indeed.


	17. Blood Runs Deeper

Four days passed, uneventful. As the shock of the Imperial bride's death subsided, the routine of court fell back into place and petty squabbles returned, for better or for worse. To her malcontent, Ulfric had been requesting Thorunn's presence during these councils more often than ever, telling her that if she was to be his queen, she would need to fall into the swing of politics and learn to rule with a steady hand. He deferred to her judgement more often as well, frequently testing her mettle in the hand of justice. He never let on whether she passed these tedious tests or not.

On the fifth day, the wound opened once again. Nothing could have prepared Thorunn for who walked into the Blue Palace that day and nothing could have prepared her for what came out of his mouth.

Thongvor Silver-Blood, Jarl of Markarth anointed after the Stormcloaks claimed the Reach, marched into the throne room flanked by his entourage, a party of seven consisting of five guards, his housecarl Yngvar the Singer and his steward Reburrus Quintillius. Thongvor was stubborn man of middle age, rapidly approaching his elder years and his fire not showing for it. What he was doing here in Solitude with that look of esteemed anger on his face, Thorunn could only guess.

"Thongvor," said Ulfric calmly, perplexed. "What brings you here?"

"My son," he responded haughtily.

"Your son?" His brows knitted together as confusion laced his otherwise passive expression.

"The Dark Brotherhood assailant you have locked in your prisons," spat Thongvor as if Ulfric should have known that that was his blood. "He is my son."

Thorunn's eyes widened. For all the conversations she'd exchanged with the nobody, never had he let on that he was the son of a Jarl or once lived a life among nobility. Ulfric leaned forward in his throne, shocked and intrigued.

"I had not known," he said. "But how... how did a man of yours end up a Dark Brotherhood agent? A Daedra worshiper and a murderer?"

Thongvor sighed, relaxing with the knowledge that Ulfric did not knowingly imprison his son. That the assassin was the son of the Jarl did not grant him immunity to the law, but it did make for special attention. "I believed he was dead, that he was executed alongside his mother so many years ago for Daedra worshiping," he began, eyes cloudy with grief he had never come to terms with.

"You never told me of this wife, nor of this incident. Please, start from the beginning, and explain why they were set to die for Daedra worshiping. Such worship is not outlawed, if frowned upon."

"Their rituals involved human sacrifice. They were not sentenced to die for the act of worshiping, only the means in which they did so. My wife, Rikith... I had known she was one with the princes of Oblivion, but I foolishly chose to ignore it so long as she did it in secret and did not stain the Silver-Blood name in her doing so. I had requested she keep her practices away from our son, but... I suppose it was in the boy's blood and too late. It was of his own accord that he chose his mother's gods over the Nine and I could not hope to stop him. I took measures to do so, of course, even resorting to lashes whenever I caught him in his sinister acts.

"They grew too bold, my king. I was blinded by my love for them and for that, I ask your forgiveness. My housecarl at the time, now in Sovngarde, Gods rest his soul, walked in on one of their sacrificial rituals. I do not wish to get into the details of this ritual, but know that it was horrendous enough to make my housecarl renounce his job and run straight to the guards. Rikith and my son were arrested within the hour, still coated with the blood they painted themselves with.

"My family name has weight, and I managed to at least plead for secrecy. They were to be executed within the confines of their prison with the public none the wiser. I know now that I should have attended their deaths, but I could not bring myself to do so. I was led to believe that both my wife and son were executed without issue, though after seeing a familiar hooded boy along the roads of the Reach not days after this incident, I have had cause to doubt his death and have taken measures to find him. And now, ten years later, I am given word that a man of my son's description is imprisoned in your name for the crime of murdering Vittoria Vici."

Thorunn was at a loss for words and Ulfric seemed to be doing no better. "That is a... vile tale," he said finally, if only to fill the silence.

"It is no tale, Majesty."

"What would you have me do? No man is above the law and your son has broken it tenfold, but I may grant a small promise if it will appease an old friend."

Thongvar looked to the ground, his one blind eye unseeing of the floor he gazed at. "I would speak with him," he said quietly. "From there, I will decide if his life is worth pleading for."

"A reasonable request," said Ulfric. "Very well. Do you mind doing so in my court's company? I would prefer to hear his side myself."

"No, Majesty. I see no reason to hide my regrets from you now."

"Thank you. Guards, retrieve the assassin and bring him here." Ulfric ordered, keeping his eyes on the Silver-Blood before him.

The guards heeded without complaint. Nobody spoke a word while they waited and time seemed to freeze in the absence of speech. The guards returned a couple minutes later with the ragged man in tow. Thongvor turned as his entourage parted to make way, and the nobody was placed before Thongvor. Under matted hair and heavy lids, the assassin slowly looked up, and for the first time since Thorunn had graced his company, he looked guilty.

Years of words unsaid struggled at Thongvor's lips. For a long moment that seemed to brush the edges of time, he only stared at his son, lips parted in shock and his one good eye flickering back and forth as he searched the man's face for a sign of something Thorunn could not place. She felt like she was intruding on a private moment, but she made no move to leave, standing rigid beside the High King's throne.

"You are... not as I remember you," Thongvor said finally, his shaky voice barely above a whisper. Of all people, Thorunn never thought to see this man without his shield raised. "Not a boy anymore, no."

The assassin said nothing, remaining silent and peering up at his father with a heartbroken gleam in his blue eyes.

"A spitting image of your mother, you are," continued Thongvor, a sad smile gracing his lips for only a brief moment, then vanishing into a frown. His vulnerability crumbled, replaced by a mask of barely contained anger. "Tell me where I went wrong."

"Here?" prompted the assassin, almost too quiet for Thorunn to catch.

"Here." Thongvor confirmed.

"Did you truly expect me to surrender my life so easily?" The words were harsh, but the voice was icily calm. "Did you doubt the extent my mother would go to save the life of her only child?"

"What did she do?" the Jarl drawled, hushed. "I had suspected... what did she do?"

"You always were easy to slip past. Contrary to your Nine, my Gods are not silent. They do not leech off the prayers of their slaves and give nothing in return, and their servants rightfully expect tribute where it's due. You call them evil, but we call them just. The line between those two words is not as thick as you'd like to believe. But back to the matter at hand: Years of sacrifice to our Gods was not in vain, and They would not abandon us so easily in our time of need. Everything comes with a price, your life most of all. My mother exchanged hers for mine in the instance that only one of us could be saved. Hers was the last sacrifice."

Thorunn felt the beginnings of anger pricking at her mood. She did not take kindly to the slandering of the Nine. A glance in Ulfric's direction indicated that he was on the same page as her.

"You say she sacrificed herself to the Daedra so that you could escape?" Thongvor said, looking as if his knees might give way.

"It was a brilliant distraction. Keys slip right through hands when they're covered in blood." He spoke of the guards, Thorunn concluded, and the blood that ran free of their body after having been slayed by whatever dark assailant the assassin was implying.

"How did I not hear of this slaughter?" Thongvor breathed, horrified.

"How do we not hear when a bear shits in the woods?" spat the assassin. "Four deaths occurred that day, three of them guards and one of them my mother. The Forsworn played it off as the usual bloodbaths that occurs within the mines. The guards that came in later were led to believe that I was killed alongside my mother. They fear the prisoners and eagerly accepted this explanation. I was gone and halfway to Falkreath before they noticed something was amiss, and they made no effort to pursue me. Clearly."

"The Forsworn," Thongvor repeated as the stars began aligning. "Of course..." He closed his eyes and heaved a quiet, tired sigh wrought with heavy burdens. "And how did you come across the Brotherhood?" He didn't want to know the answer, that much was made clear by his expression, but he knew he had to ask the question anyway.

"The Night Mother's whispers are loud," was all he offered.

Thorunn exchanged a confused look with Ulfric.

"Enough," said Thongvor, unable to bear it any longer. "I have no wish to hear more of your talk of Daedra." He breathed another sigh, this one just as heavy as the last. "You are a stain on the Silver-Blood's honor. You have slandered the gracious Nine and the mighty Talos in favor of your false Gods. You are my greatest regret and you bring me the greatest shame, Altair, and yet I still find myself clinging to the notion that you are remorseful when it is clear the only thing you are sorry for is that you were caught. Will you not give me one reason to save your life?"

Altair. That was his name. Altair Silver-Blood. The name tasted foreign and unnatural after having gone so long without branding him with one, Thorunn thought.

"You look for reasons where there are none," said the assassin- Altair, presumably. "If you have love of me, you will plead for my life regardless of what I have done and where I stand. I do not need to feed you falsities. You will do what you will."

"If I do plead for your life, what will you do with it?"

"I will not forsake my Gods, if that is what you are asking," he said quickly. "not after all They have done for me. I will not leave the Brotherhood, either. I am bound to it by something you will never understand. With that said, I would not so easily throw my life away when it need not be. If you have some other form of repentance, I may take it."

"The only repentance you will find is in the arms of Talos," said Ulfric, speaking for the first time since Altair's arrival. "Convert, and I may spare your life. A king that knows no mercy is a tyrant, but you must give me a reason to grant you it. I would also see to it that you are under my watch. There are plenty of things to be done within the palace."

Altair hung his head, torn between two paths. His life, or his oath to the Daedric Princes and the Brotherhood. The compromise he'd been seeking was not possible.

"My son, I beg of you," Thongvor pleaded softly, lowering the shields of his heart once more in a last attempt to convince his son to see reason. "Denounce this wretchedness and lessen the weight on my shoulders."

Altair raised his head at his father and Thorunn saw traces in his eyes of a boy looking up to his father as if he were the world. Once, these two had loved each other, she could tell. Whether that love was enough to save Altair, they were about to find out. "You say yourself that honor is above all, Ulfric Stormcloak. Your entire army was forged on the notion that oaths and loyalty are not meant to be taken lightly. I would first die before I forsake my Gods."

Ulfric rubbed his chin, a thoughtful look in his eye. Finally, he looked over to Thorunn. "He speaks truth. What say you, Dragonborn?" he inquired.

Thorunn saw clearly where Altair was coming from. She, herself, worshiped both Aedra and Daedra, being a follower of the Nine and Hircine. There was room for compromise between the two pantheons, but whether it was right to blur that line or not, she had no right to say. She made her decision, keeping her eyes focused only on Altair as she spoke. "He should be allowed to worship as he pleases, so long as he does not break the law in his doing so. Pledge fealty to Talos and renounce the Brotherhood, and you may keep your life and your Princes."

Beside her, someone cleared their throat. She turned her head to see Jorleif. "Your Majesty, what of Vittoria Vici? He must pay for her murder."

"Taking away his Night Mother and Sithis is sufficient," Ulfric said with a wave of his hand. "He will also be spending a great time in servitude to me. I also revoke his right to own land, provided he takes this offer to save his skin." He looked back expectantly to the ragged man on his knees.

Altair's eyes closed. Thorunn's heart thudded against her chest as she waited intensely for his response. Then he shook his head. "No. No, I will not forsake the Night Mother. My life means less to me than that."

Thongvor's knees nearly caved beneath him. He just barely caught himself on the wall next to him.

"It is your decision. I will give you three weeks time to think on it and make sure that that is what you want. Guards, take him back to the prisons," Ulfric ordered. He stood and descended the three steps it took to reach the floor beneath his throne. He strode over to Throngvor and laid a comforting hand on the man's back, saying something reassuring to him that Thorunn had no ears for.

She watched as Altair, once a nobody to her, was dragged away.


	18. The Burdens of Men

"He was always a quiet boy. A listener, not a talker, like his mother." Thongvor was saying.

They were in the throne room, hours past evening while the castle slept. Thorunn, the Jarl sitting across from her at the table, and a snoozing Galmar were the only three things that breathed within the dimly lit room. To ease the pain in Thongvor's heart, Ulfric had given him the key to the wine cellar and his condolences. For a while, Ulfric had stayed up to drink with him, alongside his betrothed and Galmar. They exchanged war tales, roared with laughter, bickered, even brawled, as true Nords did when the twilight was grey.

Ulfric had gone to bed an hour ago, stumbling and drunk. Galmar had passed out right there on the table, snoring loudly and as unconscious as a bear in hibernation. The last two standing were Thorunn and Thongvor, both dreary from the alcohol but not quite ready to pass out. The whole night, Thongvor had managed not to say a single thing in regards to his son or wife, until now that the boisterous air had left them to their thoughts. The only thing to light the room was a few dim candles, but Thorunn could see the grief leaking from Thongvor's expression.

She said nothing as she waited for him to continue. The silence dragged on long enough for her to suspect he'd fallen asleep, but he spoke in due time. "He had this look in his eye, like he was listening to someone even though nobody was talking. I think the boy's cursed, myself. Had a little too much of his mother in him. He heard things, I know he did, voices and whispers from whatever evil is beyond the realm of the living. Can you imagine that? Walking in on your five-year-old boy talking to someone that wasn't there?"

He heaved a sigh and massaged his temples. "By Talos, that damnable woman was my demise. Beautiful girl with long golden locks and a dimpled smile- ah, she was always smiling. So damned happy. She was my first, you know. My first girl I had in bed. By morning I was in love with her and within the same week I married her. Father told me, 'now don't you go messing with these girls all willy-nilly,'" He roared with laughter so abruptly that Thorunn jumped. "You know what I told him? Told him, 'pa, this woman's the one I wanna grow old with. Not you or anyone can tell me I won't.'"

He went quiet, looking down at the table grimly. "Well, I was wrong. He was right. That's why boys should always listen to their fathers, but mine never did. Just looked up at me with those big blue eyes. Aye, he never cried, neither. Not once. Always those eyes that just stared up at me, not knowing what he did wrong to the world. If there was ever a thing that made me weaker than my Rikith, it was those eyes. S'pose I should be glad he didn't get mine." He laughed again, pointing to the one eye of his that was nothing but a white pit of blindness.

"Ah, blast it. You're not interested in the burdens of an old man, are you? No, you're young, doting on that bear Ulfric and not wanting to hear of blackness. Would you listen to me if I told you not to mess with these boys all willy-nilly?" He grinned toothily.

"Not likely," said Thorunn.

"Nah, I didn't think so. He used to be quite a hit among the ladies, you know. Still is, with those rugged good looks and kingly glare. Gotta watch out for the lookers, learned so myself." He picked up his bottle of ale, taking a large swig then tipping it knowledgeably in Thorunn's direction.

She had long since discarded her steel mail, now clad in a loose cream-colored tunic and brown trousers. Her cheeks were flushed from the alcohol and her hair disheveled from brawling. Throngvor looked no better, sporting a black eye delivered by Ulfric and a swollen lip from Galmar. Thorunn had bruises of her own, festering on her shoulders and neck and one on her cheekbone. The alcohol numbed the pain nicely, but she knew she'd feel it in the morning.

"Yep," Throngvor said after the silence became unbearable, sighing as he tapped his thumb against the bottle in his hand. "But he'll be faithful, he will. Most honorable man I know, and don't let no red-faced Imperial tell you otherwise."

He stood up, just a tad too quickly and stumbled over his own chair, falling to the ground with a clatter and a thud. " _Argh!_ " he exclaimed, then climbed unsteadily back to his feet, his hand skimming across the table in search of purchase. He let loose a heavy sigh. "And that's all she wrote," he said, grinning lopsidedly. At that, he stumbled out of the room, leaving Thorunn as the last man standing.

But that was not the last of the burdens she would witness for the night. When she went to Ulfric's quarters, he was sitting up on the edge of the bed, leaning with his head in his hands. He looked up when he heard the door open, offering a small smile to Thorunn when he laid eyes on her. He ushered for her to join him and she did, sitting down on the bed next to him. She laid her head on his shoulder, staring at the floor below them.

Time passed in companionable silence, both working up the energy to say something. The edges of Thorunn's vision were fuzzy from intoxication and her head swam alongside it, making it difficult to form the words that came to her mouth. "Can we really punish that man for his faith?" she said finally, each word an effort to say. "After starting a war over our own faith being punished?"

"He won't see reason," said Ulfric, his voice husky and his words slightly slurred. "You seem to have taken to the man. Perhaps you can convince him where I can't."

She said nothing, quietly tampering with her thoughts and trying to push past the intoxicating alcohol to make sense of things.

"Are you certain you wish to marry me?" voiced Ulfric. The question was so sudden that Thorunn was thrown off-guard, stunned into a couple more moments of agonizing silence.

"Yes, of course. Why would you ask such a thing?"

"Thorunn, do you not see what this crown is doing to me? Politics are a damning thing. Soldiers like us see politicians as the weeds of the world, and truly, they are, but the burdens a king and queen carry are heavier than stones. Every man that fights in a war is a puppeteer of life. Every man he defeats, he must choose whether that man lives or dies, whether to deliver the killing blow or keep walking. It's a natural thing. But when someone asks you as a man in rags kneels before you, _'is this man sentenced to death or not?'_ you must think about it. You must carry that weight with you until the axe is brought down on his neck and then you must live with that decision. I can't go a single day without questioning my decisions. Do you understand how hard it is to live like that? So full of doubt that you begin questioning every step you take?"

"Marrying me would mean sharing those burdens and adopting your own. There is no black and white in this world, only grey, and the lines between right and wrong, between life and death, between good and evil- they blur so thickly that I can't see a greener side. You have lived your life acting first and thinking later. You are headstrong, you are reckless and action-oriented. Those are the reasons I love you among many more. I fear becoming a queen may dim your fire."

Thorunn lifted her head, regarding him sternly. It was easy to defeat the alcohol now. "I am a dragon," she said, each word deliberate and firm. Always, she had referred to herself as having the dragon within her. Now, she never felt so sure in the fact that she was one and the same with the prideful, winged beast. "Not even a king can make a dragon bend its knee. No crown, no marriage, no sword, will ever break me. I will marry you because I love you and I will become the High Queen because I love my country. Remember that."

He watched her, brows slightly creased and a thoughtful frown on his lips. Then he nodded softly. "Yes," he said. "Yes. Of course."

As they laid to rest, Thorunn did not know if she would recall their conversation come morning. But what she did know is that its effect would remain, and that no matter how deep the memories were tucked away, her heart would remember her words.


	19. Poppies Grow Here

Things were moving along and time wasn't stopping for Altair's impending decision. Thorunn did plan to go down to the prisons and speak with him, but today was not the day to do that. Today was the day she'd been waiting for for a long time: The announcement of hers and Ulfric's engagement, celebrated with a feast and many of their old friends.

Thongvor had decided to remain in Solitude for the next three weeks to see if his son changed his mind or not. Back in Markarth, his Thane, Vikkesia Hrethgir, ruled as his regent and kept the peace while he was away. He showed no signs of having any memory of the conversation he'd had with Thorunn the night prior, but she remembered it quite vividly, the foremost being of him tripping over his chair. She vaguely remembered the burdens Ulfric had laid to her as well, but like Thongvor, he showed no signs of remembrance.

The feast was to be held in the courtyard, the same one Vittoria Vici's wedding had been held. The blood stains had been scrubbed meticulously off the walls, of course. Due to Dark Brotherhood assassins running amok, the feast was not a public event, and only those with invitations were allowed to attend. The last thing they needed was another nobody waltzing into their life.

Ulfric was wearing some of his best finery: A blue doublet embroidered with intricate silver designs along the buttons with puffy sleeves, charcoal grey trousers tucked neatly into boiled leather boots, and a silver cloak that clasped to his shoulders with brooches sporting the Bear of Eastmarch sigil. His golden locks were much more tidily groomed than usual, some thought put into the braids that held it from his face and the golden crown on his head not a single degree crooked. As per usual, his axes were sheathed into his belt.

Thorunn, too, wore her best: Gold lightly accented the silver and blue of her gown, tailored nimbly to suit her muscular figure perfectly and make her look almost slender. She represented two factions today, her cloak bearing the Stormcloak coat of arms but the brooch on her breast harboring the Companions mark. Despite the world making every effort to do so, she did not forget she was the Harbinger of the Companions, and today her three Circle members would be attending her engagement. From lack of cutting, her hair had grown to her mid-back, cascading over her shoulders while her bangs were held back with elaborate braids. A dagger was strapped to her thigh beneath her dress, naturally.

Prideful, she walked alongside Ulfric as they trekked down to the courtyard. Already, she could hear the low rumble of drums and the blowing of goat horns. She hoped the bards weren't too scarred over what happened at their last ceremony. She could smell the food cooking as well, horse meat and blood pies, if her senses were correct. The smell of the meat was much more appetizing than the pie, having grown an affinity for flesh after being blessed by Hircine.

Immediately, she could make out her fellow Companions amidst the small crowd forming in the courtyard. Aela had took off her warpaint and elected for a simple green gown that complimented her figure, while Vilkas and Farkas wore matching black doublets and silver cloaks. The twins were only discernible by their contrasting builds, Vilkas being the taller and slender of the two and Farkas being a meaty bulk of a man. All three were armed. Thorunn felt a proud smile rise to her lips.

"I never would have thought," said Aela as she approached Thorunn. She was beaming, a mixture of bemusement and apprehension in her expression. "When you first walked into Jorrvaskr, dressed in mismatched ragged armor and a blade that could barely cut butter, I thought you wouldn't last a week. Now look at you. The Harbinger of the Companions and on your fast way to becoming the High Queen."

Ulfric had left her side to banter with one of his Jarls. Thorunn couldn't place a name to the man he was speaking to. She smiled ambitiously back at Aela, and noted that even stern Vilkas had a faint smile on his lips. "I do love to prove people wrong," she stated.

"That you do," Aela responded, nodding in agreement. She looked past Thorunn's shoulder, watching Farkas wolf down a pie and shaking her head. "I must say, you do have a fine taste in men. Ulfric has no shortage of good looks and an even less shortage of things for you to kill."

Thorunn laughed. "You aren't wrong."

Vilkas stepped forward, and Thorunn could tell by the look in his eye that he was about to bring up something dismal. "Harbinger, we've been hearing dark things of what's going on here in Solitude. Dark Brotherhood assassins and talk of treason? Are you certain it's wise to do this right now, so soon after Vittoria Vici's wedding?"

Her smile faded. "Wise? Certainly not, but if it were," a smirk crossed her lips, "what kind of party would that be?"

Vilkas sighed, knowing that whatever he said, it'd be for naught. "A bloodbath."

"That's always the best kind." She winked.

She felt a large hand on her shoulder and turned to see Farkas grinning, mouth filled with pie. "Hey, boss," he greeted cheerily. "Loving the feast you've got here."

Oh, how she missed these people.

"We can tell," deadpanned Aela. She took Farkas by the arm. "But we should let you mingle with your other guests. I'll find you again later." With that, she disappeared into the crowd alongside the twins, Farkas roaring with laughter about some joke he told Vilkas and Vilkas staring at his brother with distaste.

Ulfric had returned to Thorunn's side before she could get far. "Enjoying the festivities?" he said from behind her shoulder, leaning down to reach her ear. He was grinning when Thorunn turned her head to look at him.

"I would be enjoying something else more," she replied suggestively.

He chuckled. "Believe me, we will get to that. Come, we must greet our guests." He took her hand in his and they walked to the front of the courtyard. Ulfric held up a hand to silence the musicians, and while the crowd quieted the instruments went with them. He waited until attention was undivided before speaking.

"Today, the people of Skyrim are brought together to celebrate the importance of love. Despite the strife and war that plagued our country, my betrothed and I still found room to care for each other in a way I thought was impossible for our situation. With Talos as my witness, this woman will be the woman I spend my life and beyond with, as I would have it no other way. On the first of Morning Star, the first day of another year, this woman will become your Queen and my wife."

The first of Morning Star came in only a month, Thorunn noted. She looked out among the crowd as they cheered and clapped. Farkas shouted his approval particularly loudly, pumping his fist into the air with a goofy grin on his lips. The more dignified guests of their feast merely clapped politely with a smile on their lips, while others dressed in armor banged the hilts of their swords or axes against their shield. In thirty days, these people would kneel to her.

Ulfric waited for the cheering to subside once more. "Please, enjoy the feast we've prepared in our name. Dueling is permitted, but only if you allow us to spectate." He smirked. "Return to your mingling." He gestured to the bards and they resumed their Nordic music, singing songs in _dovahzul_ backed by deer-hide framed drums and tagelharpes.

The festivities resumed. Several duels brightened the day, one between Farkas and Aela with Aela emerging as the victor and another between Jarl Thongvor and Galmar with Galmar standing victorious. Most of the faces were friends of Ulfric's, nobles and friends from the Great War Thorunn had never met. Thorunn had invited very few guests, only indulging the three Circle members and a select few others including the Altmer Nelacar from Winterhold and the Redguard Rayya from Falkreath.

The celebration went on until evening fell and then some. By the time the sun set, Thorunn's cheeks were sore from having to maintain a polite smile for hours on end. Her muscles ached from dueling to her heart's content and her stomach was full from eating so much, but she'd never been so content in her life. As night dawned, most of the guests remained, but enough left to make the courtyard look significantly more comfortable. Thorunn was grateful for the extra space to breath.

The night was to end with a duel between the two betrothed, of their own idea. During the civil war, they'd fought each other often, whether to settle differences, pass time, or to practice. Few could match Thorunn in battle like Ulfric did. They agreed that they would not use the Voice, not wanting to unsettle the savory guests or cause too big of a mess. Beforehand, Thorunn removed her dress so that she stood barefoot in a tunic and trousers, a dull longsword in her hand. Ulfric, too, had exchanged his honed axes for a blade that would do no harm upon contact.

It was not unusual for husband and wife to duel on the eve of their engagement. It was almost a tradition, in fact, one that two esteemed soldiers would not dream of forsaking. The man and woman exchanged a nod, smiling at each other before raising their respective weapons and charging. The bards played their instruments louder.

Thorunn's sword clacked against Ulfric's, audible and sharp. He parried her sword effortlessly then sidestepped to weave the blow he saw coming before she even swung her blade. She went out on a gallant whim and continued to pursue him, each of her swings timed with the clack of his locking with hers but giving him no time to strike a blow of his own. That was her general strategy: Exhaust the target, then strike.

And he knew what she was doing. He increased his vigilance, the grip he had on the hilt of his sword visibly tightening as he made a herculean effort to push her back. She kept on and they danced, his strategy of efficiency and swiftness battling hers of exhaustion. They'd fought with each other enough times to see every move before it was made, catch every swing before it was swung, see every step before it was stepped.

Though his appearance and strength showed nothing for it, Ulfric was a good five or six years older than her. Even with that small of a difference, it meant the world when it came to endurance. Alongside his age, Ulfric was a mere human. Thorunn had the endurance of the wolf. She could dance with him until the sun rose up again, if it came to that. Ulfric was losing his footing, eventually yielding when the tip of her longsword poked the center of his chest.

He dropped his sword, something odd in the look in his eye.

Thorunn withdrew her sword, handing it off to a nearby guard without turning away from Ulfric. The soles of her bare feet were covered in cuts and scratches from moving gaily against stone. The crowd was silent, waiting for the response.

Thorunn turned and took a bow. Silence erupted into cheering.

The smile she'd been expecting finally rose to Ulfric's lips when next she looked at him. He pulled her into his arms, kissing her passionately on the lips with all the world and then some to look upon. They were next to leave the ceremony, though many guests remained to finish off the food and tie up any loose ends.

Ulfric was eager and lustful that night, pressing his body to hers like he couldn't get close enough to her.


	20. Black and White

Solitude remained vivid. Banners of all sorts lined the pillars of the city, from Winterhold's light blue crown of vines to Markarth's green twisted ram horns, as well as faction banners: the red arrow of the mercenary group Vaulting Drakes; the two wolf heads supplying the blade of a battleaxe representing the Companions of Whiterun. The city had never been so colorful in Thorunn's memory. She wondered how vibrant it would be when it came time for the wedding.

The morning after, she broke her fast with the king and a good deal of the Jarls of Skyrim. Jarl Dengeir of Stuhn who presided over Falkreath Hold sat among them, as well as Jarl Vignar Gray-Mane of Whiterun, Thongvor Silver-Blood of Markarth, and Skald the Elder of The Pale. Among these Jarls were their personal housecarls and stewards, though their Thanes remained within their Holds to rule in their stead. They'd had to bring in another feasting table to make room for all of them, as they naturally stayed within the palace.

"Your wine, m'lady," said a Bosmer servant girl as she leaned down to place a cup on Thorunn's coaster.

"Ah, no thank you," Thorunn declined. She'd drank enough the night prior. She was content to settle down with hot tea.

The Bosmer girl looked almost hurt. "Please, I insist. The cooks were so excited to have their wine tasted by the queen."

"I am no queen yet, but..." She looked at the wine thoughtfully, then made her decision with a quiet sigh of defeat. She was not typically a generous woman, but the pointy-eared girl's big brown eyes were awfully convincing. "Very well."

The elf smiled and laid the cup down, then bowed before moving to dote on the next attendant. Thorunn looked back to Ulfric, who had a suspicious look in his eye. He gave her a small shake of the head that was hardly noticeable, but Thorunn got the message anyway. She did not touch the wine, returning to the idle banter she'd been partaking in with Jarl Dengeir.

Many of the Jarls and stewards and housecarls remained after they were done eating to finish their conversations, but Thorunn and Ulfric did not. He walked alongside her as they left the long hall. "I think it's time you invest in a housecarl," he advised in hushed tones.

"Or a taster," she responded with a scoff. She was trained enough to be able to protect herself. A housecarl would be a waste of gold.

Ulfric regarded her sternly, not amused. "I am serious. The moment I announced our engagement, hundreds of people began writing your death rite. It will only worsen the closer you get to dawning your crown." He sighed as she said nothing. "If you will not take on a housecarl for your protection, employ one only to help me sleep better at night."

"I will consider it," she said, even as she decided she wouldn't.

"Please do," he affirmed. He halted at the top of the staircase leading down into the entryway of the palace. "With the city being filled to the brim with politicians, crime rate has spiked, and I must address these petty squabbles. You are free to do as you wish for the day, but please, Thorunn, find a housecarl."

So she did, despite not wanting one. She found the woman she'd been looking for at The Winking Skeever, head wrapped in the blue cloths traditional of Hammerfell and two cutlasses at her belt. Rayya was Redguard through-and-through, with dark skin coated in red warpaint and steel armor the likes of which Thorunn had never seen before. A blue cloth was wrapped around Rayya's waist, someone's favor, Thorunn presumed. She sat down across from the woman, who smiled at her approach.

"Your Grace," she said, bowing her head and setting down the bottle of ale in her gauntleted hand. Her thick Hammerfell accent was palpable.

Thorunn found herself wondering what brought this woman to Skyrim. Thorunn had met her during the years she'd been fighting against Alduin. There'd been a bear and a wolf, two fierce creatures unimaginably hard to take down when both were clawing at you. Rayya had turned the battle in Thorunn's favor, and since then, she had been a warrior Thorunn frequently turned to whenever she needed an extra hand.

"I am in need of a housecarl," said Thorunn, getting comfortable in the wooden chair she sat in. "I would be honored with your sword at my side and you would be well paid."

A smile reached the honorable woman's lips. She brought a fist to her heart. "A finer job I could not think of. My sword arm is yours, and your enemies are mine."

"Good. I understand this comes a bit abruptly, so if you need to return to Falkreath to gather your things, you may do so."

"Thank you. It will not take me longer than a week to return."

Thorunn nodded curtly. "Your service is appreciated." She stood and headed for the exit of the tavern. With her freedom, there was one thing she needed to do.

Solitude's prisons were unfriendly and dark, rusted cells lining damp stone walls that reeked of mildew and filth. Only one guard stood on the lower level where Thorunn needed to be, an old man with a white beard and a scrutinizing glare. He said nothing as she descended the staircase, allowing her to pass without question. She paid him no mind and continued on her way until she reached the cell of her fancy.

The man inside was not in any state to impress her. His bruises had healed marginally, making it clear that once the guards found out he was the son of a Jarl, they ceased their beatings. But that accounted for nothing when it came to how malnourished the assassin was, his cheeks sunken and the bags under his blue eyes- once vivid and acute, now glossy and gloomy -prominent. He didn't look up or seem to hear as Thorunn opened the cell gate with a master's key.

Wordlessly, she sat down on the ground, leaning her back against the wall and not caring for the well-being of her expensive dress. "I understand the weight of your oaths," she said quietly.

He looked up at her, and Thorunn saw what his father meant when he spoke of those big blue eyes. He was silent and apprehensive.

"I suppose telling you this will do no harm. No one would believe you if you tried to implicate me, anyway, and I have broken no laws," Thorunn spoke as if he wasn't there, like she was speaking to ghosts that had no concept of judgement. Perhaps these ghosts and Altair were one and the same. "I am a follower of Hircine, Daedric Lord of the Hunt."

That kindled a reaction other than stone-faced apprehension. He tilted his head slightly, an intrigued crease in his brow.

"I am also a follower of the Nine," she continued. "Despite shouting my love for Them on the day of my oath, despite wearing Their favors and praying to Them as I will, Hircine still accepts me as would any Daedric Prince I choose to follow. Do you know why?"

Softly, Altair shook his head, as she'd predicted.

"Daedra represent change. Aedra represent creation. Any hostility between the two is kindled only by men and their superstitions." She paused, searching his dirt-coated face. "Daedric lords do not care if you make oaths to the Nine. What they care about is that you keep your word to them, and unless they had cause for you to swear you will never follow the Aedra or make oaths to Those Above, adding Talos to your pantheon will not make you any less honorable."

Altair chuckled wryly. "And you would know?" he said quietly.

"I would," Thorunn said to him with all the certainty of the world.

"Why did you come down here? It could not have been out of the kindness of your heart. Are you looking for some sort of validation?"

"The only validation I seek comes from a shrine of Talos." She supposed she saw herself in Altair, if she was being honest with herself. He struggled with who he was, she could see it in the way he held himself, but more than that, he had something to prove. In a way, she felt obligated to make him see his wrongs. With every other life she took, she cared not if they understood the reasons why they had to die. But something in Altair, something foreboding but peaceful that she could not place, made her stay her hand. "The Daedra value perseverance, do they not? I wonder, why do you not simply lie to Ulfric, and tell him you will swear fealty to him and Talos only to save your life?"

"That's what you'd expect me to do, isn't it?" The curl in his lip was not friendly, the look on his face one of scorn. "You do not know me. Do not begin to think you do."

"Then humor me."

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why do you care?"

"One could argue that I am merely curious."

"Are you?"

"No," she said honestly with a shake of her head. "I care because I see a life that does not need to be taken. And perhaps... maybe... I have developed a fondness for you, if not a strong one." An affiliation may have been a more appropriate use of words, but the two were interchangeable when it came to her feelings for Altair.

He looked genuinely shocked at that. "I thought..."

She waved her hand impatiently, knowing what he'd jumped to. "Gods, not that sort of fondness. I am espoused to the king if you must know."

"I suspected as much." She could not make sense of his tone and made no effort to. He looked down, pausing in thought and chewing on his lip. When he looked back up at her, his confusion had returned. "But why? I have done nothing to warrant your care."

"Perhaps," she stated simply, shrugging. "yet you've acquired it nonetheless. What will you do with it?"

He scoffed, sitting back. His back leaned into the wall behind him with a soft thud. "Nothing. I am going to die."

"Only if you choose to do so."

"Choosing not to do so would mean choosing to forsake the Dark Brotherhood. You want me to betray my family and everything I stand for because you have developed the slightest of affection for me."

"I want you to betray your family and everything you stand for because it's the right thing to do," she snapped, temper rising dangerously. "What you stand for is murder. How can you not see what's wrong with that analogy?"

He sighed with frustration. "I don't expect you to understand. If you can't, leave me be."

"And if I can?"

"You don't."

"But if I can..."

He sighed again, rolling his eyes. "You're insufferable, you know that?"

"So I've heard," she said.

He allowed himself a small smile, but it didn't last long. They were pulled from their conversation when they heard someone descending the staircase, come to find out it was Jorleif, Ulfric's steward. The short and polite Nordic man strode over to the cell. If he had any thoughts on why Thorunn was sitting in a prison cell with an assassin, he did not voice them.

"Your Grace, the guards said they'd seen you coming down here," he said, hands clasped behind his back. "Ulfric would like to see you before the midday meal. He did not say if it was formal or informal." Jorleif was a loyal man, if passive to the civil war and untrained in war. Ulfric had excused this with the notion that he needed an unblemished mind from time-to-time.

She nodded. "I will see him," she said, and gestured dismissively. The steward bowed and took his leave while Thorunn got to her feet. She looked down at the man in rags. "Understand that neither the Nine or the Daedra will blame you for wanting your life. Think on it, if nothing else."

She, too, left the prisons then to find her king, but not before telling the guards to bring an unsoiled meal down for the prisoner as well as a bath and a clean change of clothes. They needed him recognizable if they were going to execute him.

She found Ulfric in his private study, slouched comfortably in a recliner with a book in his hand. The stitching in the leather cover of the book read, 'Kolb and the Dragon'. Thorunn's brow furrowed as an amused smile reached her lips. "Children's books? Light reader, are you?"

He looked up from the book with a pensive smile. "I was... feeling nostalgic, is all," he wearied. "Your parents did not relay you this tale?"

"Oh, they did, I just never particularly liked story time. You did?"

"I loved it." He closed the book in his hands and set it aside on the end table next to the recliner he resided in. He gestured to the cushioned chair across from his, identical to his own in every way save that it was green instead of red, and Thorunn sat. "My father didn't necessarily enjoy my affinity for books, for fear of his boy turning up to be a scholar instead of a warrior, but he didn't have much say when we received the letter from the Greybeards, requesting my presence at High Hrothgar."

"You've never went into detail of your time there," Thorunn pointed out, not unkindly.

"No, I suppose I haven't," he remarked faintly. "My father was not happy with it, I can say that much without doubt. I was his only son and my mother died giving birth to me, so essentially, I was all he would ever have in terms of an heir." A wistful look reached his blue eyes. He was eyeing Thorunn without really seeing her, instead seeing his memories. "Being chosen by the Greybeards is an honor, I know that and my father did as well. He had no choice but to let me go, but he was ever furious in his doing so. I was ten when I made the trek alone to High Hrothgar. I was twenty when I made the trek alone back to civilization."

"Why were you chosen, if I may?"

Ulfric saw her then, bouncing back to the present. He smiled. "You always may, dii lokaal," he told her gently. His smile faded and his past returned, a gloom settling over his features. "I was the son of a Jarl and a priest of Kynareth. My mother being an advocate for Kynareth made me targeted enough, but not everyone has an affinity with dragons strong enough to withstand the Voice. The Greybeards, they can... sense something in people. I do not know what to call it, but they sensed it in me, and I am ever grateful they did despite our less-than-graceful goodbye.

"My time at High Hrothgar was long and bittersweet. Many days were tedious, hours spent conditioning rather than actually learning. It is not as easy for us lesser folk to learn the Voice as it is for you, Dragonborn, as you well know. It can kill the strongest of men if taken lightly. But Arngeir and I were fast friends and got along nicely. I distinctly remember sharing a love for lemon cakes." A sad smile rose his lips, but fell almost as soon as it'd appeared. "And then the Great War began, and well... we did not see eye-to-eye. He was calm and collected, but I was outraged. My father sent me a letter, the first time he'd contacted me since I'd left Windhelm ten years prior, and spoke of war and his crooning of it. What was I to do?

"His approval was the one thing I lacked in life. I had a voice that could shake the ground, for Talos' sake, yet I still found myself lying awake at night, wondering if my father ever thought of me and if a proud smile rose to his lips at these thoughts." His tone had gone sharply bitter. "Naturally, I leapt at the chance to prove myself to him. Arngeir warned me that it would not be worth forsaking the Way of the Voice and that there would be dire consequences for using my gift for warfare, but I did not listen. Angry boys never do, do they? And so I left, my last words to Arngeir being that of scorn and distaste. He was my dearest friend, the closest thing I had to a father figure, and yet he paled in comparison to a man that couldn't look me in the eye without a frown of shame."

Thorunn reached out, laying a hand on his knee. She didn't know what else to offer.

His lips twitched at her touch, the beginnings of a smile that was never completely born. "He tolerated me during the war, but little else. I was a sword before I was his son. He made that clear the moment he handed me one and told me, 'You know which end to stick them with, don't you?' Around that time, I met dear old Galmar. He was even more angry back then, believe it or not, and he enjoyed taking it out on me while he trained me. And thank Talos he did take pity on me enough to train me, otherwise I fear I might have met an early grave. My father had no intention to teach me how to use the sword beyond 'which end to stick them with.'

"Still kept up with books, though," He reached over and patted Kolb and the Dragon affectionately. "The other men picked on me for it, but it was what separated me from them. They were stronger, I was smarter, and I could rip them apart with that witty tongue of mine." He tapped his temple for emphasis. "And now look who wears the crown." An aggrieved smirk graced his lips at that.

Thorunn couldn't help but wear a smirk of her own. "Thank you for sharing this with me."

Ulfric's eyes darted over to the sundial. "It was no trouble. I'm glad to have finally spoke of it after all this time." He stood, holding a hand out for her that she graciously took. "Come, we have only a few before it is time to break our fast." He led her out of the study.


	21. In Your Time of Need

**A/N: So this chapter marks the official beginning of act two. Not sure how long act two will be, but its central focus will be made clear within this chapter and the next. I have also decided to anticipate a sequel to this novel, but nothing is set in stone. Should I decide to go through with it, though, the title will be The World is Your Throne.**

 **Please please leave reviews! Critique is welcome and praise is immensely appreciated. I like to know I have an audience for the stories I tell and leaving comments- however short, however mediocre -helps a lot for encouragement and confidence.**

 **X X X**

The next day, several of the Jarls left, taking their flags and entourages with them. They left behind gifts for Ulfric and the Dragonborn, ranging from swords to family heirlooms to priceless jewels and finery. "Dragon Queen," was how they addressed Thorunn. She wasn't sure how to feel about that, but the gifts were appreciated.

Solitude's vibrancy slowly died down as the week drew on. Rayya, Thorunn's selected housecarl, returned on the third day and took up the position at Thorunn's side as her personal bodyguard. She didn't particularly like having someone follow her around everywhere she went, but whatever it took to 'help her beloved sleep better at night'.

Thorunn continued making trips down to the dungeons. Frequently, she brought fresh food and a shaving knife or clean rags with her. These trips soon turned from a couple times a week to every night, and Altair's execution was rapidly approaching its deliverance. Thorunn was running out of time to convince him to vouch for his life, but they did not always speak of the Daedra and the lines they drew; often, they'd talk of their childhoods or partake in friendly debates on mediocre topics.

Every time she came down to him, the first thing he asked about was the weather. "How was the sky today?" he'd ask, having not seen it since his imprisonment.

Thorunn would tell him without comment or question. Today, she answered, "It stormed. Snow doesn't fall on this side of the country, so to make up for the loss, it rains."

A genuine smile touched his lips. Thorunn noticed he had dimples. "I wish I could see it," he said softly.

"You could, if you'd denounce this foolishness," she replied. She sat down on the ground, placing the candle in between them. From outside the cell, she could hear the quiet breathing of Rayya. Rayya had been just another addition to the background noise.

Altair was looking much better with her putting in word for him to be well taken care of, sporting only stubble and a healing bruise above his eyebrow. His blond curls had grown a couple inches, but the ruggedness only made him more handsome. "Ah, of course," he began, and Thorunn could tell he was about to say something passive aggressive. "Why didn't I think of that? All I have to do is tell a couple Gods to screw off and I'll be home bound."

She stared at him, not amused.

He sighed. "You make some good points," he said, much to Thorunn's surprise. She hadn't suspected her words ever reached his ears. "I will think on it, if you first tell me what you intend to do with my life if I choose it."

"You will remain in Solitude for a time. Ulfric's word, not mine. After that... you will most likely be required to return to Markarth with your father."

"And if I wish to remain in Solitude?"

She was taken aback. "Then... you may choose to do so, I suppose, though I do not know why you would choose to do such a thing."

"I will need a job. There are a few uses a king- or queen -has for an assassin." His smirk was suggestive, implying something Thorunn did not catch. "Besides, you will be in Solitude, will you not? I daresay you have been a... a friend to me in my time of need. I would not see our friendship end just so I can return to a father I despise."

Despite herself, she smiled. "I am sure you will be welcome here."

Suddenly, she felt something pricking at her insides. How long had it been since she last hunted? A couple weeks, at the least. She would need to feed the wolf soon if she wanted to avoid an incident. Expression darkening, she stood. "I must go."

"But why? You only just arrived."

"I will regale later, perhaps." Not leaving any room for argument, she exited the cell, hastily locking the door behind her. Rayya struggled to keep up as she pounded up the staircase. Her bones were adopting a familiar alarming ache, but there was something missing in the ache. She could not place it.

"Remain here," she ordered Rayya as she neared the exit of the Blue Palace. "Do not question it now or later."

Confused, the housecarl remained, while Thorunn rushed out of the palace. It was night, thankfully, which meant very few people were outside of their houses. The few that were were guards, who were accustomed to oddity and barely turned their head as Thorunn passed.

The guards at the gate were not as polite. "Your Grace, why might you leave the city so late?"

"I am not required to answer that. Open the gates, now." she ordered.

They reluctantly did so, and holding her skirts, Thorunn forked a right into the forest shrouding the frost-coated mountains. Something dawned on her as she ran: Why hadn't she transformed yet? Normally, she fed the wolf long before it became hungry, leaving no chances of an accidental transformation. But there were days when she couldn't predict the wolf's hunger. Whenever she did allow it to become rabid, she was always transformed within moments. There was no reason for her to still be in human form at this point.

Even more curious, the overwhelming desire to tear flesh with her teeth was present. Snarling, she whipped her head up to the sky. It was a full moon that night, which furthered her confusion. She came to an abrupt halt and willed herself to transform, growl escalating into a pained scream. Her bones jolted and she fell to her knees. Her vision was blurring, but she could see that her hands were still that of a human.

She breathed in, catching the scent of a nearby goat. She lost control, not knowing what form she was in as she leapt into a sprint, heading towards the smell of life. She found the creature at a pond and she neglected stealth as she ran at it, tackling the shrieking animal to the ground. Her teeth were the sharpened fangs of a wolf, she realized as she sunk them into the goat's neck and put it out of its misery. She tore at its flesh with talons and teeth, Thorunn watching in horror as the wolf in her controlled her movements.

Never had she been aware of what she was doing whenever she transformed. She knew the fault behind this was that she hadn't transformed.

Her head snapped to attention, blood coating and trickling down her chin, when she heard heavy wolfish intakes of breath. She immediately recognized the scent the moment she inhaled the air, identifying it as Vilkas. He was standing at the other end of the pond in all his werewolf glory, crouched low in the midst of shrubbery. His golden eyes were trained on her, confusion laced into them as he didn't know whether she was friend or foe. He whined apprehensively.

His wolf recognized her scent, she could tell, but it didn't understand why the form didn't match the smell. Thorunn tried to speak, but while she had possession of her body she had no possession of what she did with it. The wolf in her snarled and took off.

The hunger faded and with it her energy. She woke covered in blood and grime in the middle of the forest, her once-white colored dress now coated with so much dirt it was brown, its original color indistinguishable. Holes and tatters littered her skirts and she was missing both shoes and a sleeve.

None of these things mattered when she became aware of how much excruciating pain she was in.

Whimpering and wincing in pain, she tried to lift herself off the ground only to fall back heedlessly. She laid there until time was inconceivable, her stomach in particular shooting jolts of white-hot pain into the rest of her body. Eventually, she went numb and the forest went black.

She did not open her eyes again until the sound of horse hooves hitting the ground nursed by the voices of familiar men alerted her senses. "Sir, I don't think she's here," a nervous voice was saying. "Why would she come to the forest?"

"Enough, boy," another voice growled. This one she recognized instantly as Ulfric, but her eyelids were too heavy to open again. "And stop questioning me at once."

The hooves of the horses stopped, she heard. She could sense they were strikingly nearby and tried to lift her head again to no avail. "Stop. What is that? On the ground, just there." said Ulfric.

Someone with heavy footfalls began approaching. The voice of Galmar Stone-Fist was next to speak. "By the Nine, Ulfric, it's her!" he exclaimed. A clatter of movement, then more footfalls as Ulfric rushed over to her.

He lifted her into his arms. Had Thorunn been in any position to do so, she would have fought against him. She was not inclined to resist assistance while her spine felt like it might collapse at the first implication of a sketchy movement. Thorunn managed to clutch at Ulfric's tunic to get his attention. "Aela," she whispered, unable to make her voice do more than that.

He nodded once, and she allowed herself to slip back into darkness.

The third time she woke was easiest. The aching in her bones had subsided to a tolerable drumming and someone had cleaned the blood and grime from her skin and hair and changed her into a clean laced tunic and brown trousers. She opened her eyes to find herself in the court wizard's quarters. The first thing she smelled was the unmistakable stench of a vampire: Metallic blood masked by the illusion of seductive flowers and honey.

Sybille Stentor was one of the very few who knew of Thorunn's lycanthropy, and her knowledge of it was no conscious choice of Thorunn's. Being a vampire, she could sense Thorunn the same way Thorunn could sense her. There was no inherent hostility between the two supernatural, but vampires had a precise superiority complex that Thorunn had no respect for. Sybille in particular wasn't the most friendly of sorts by far, especially since the Stormcloaks took over.

When the vampire reentered the room carrying a tray of various potions and herbs, her piercingly orange-gold eyes widened then relaxed. "You're awake," she said, setting the tray on the end table beside the bed. "Would you like me to retrieve the king?" She said the word with distaste. Thorunn chose to ignore it.

"Yes," she said, surprised to find her voice usable. "And Aela too, if you can." If anyone knew about the peculiarity she experienced last night, it'd be Aela.

Sybille looked inconvenienced, but nodded obediently anyway. She left the room and did not return, leaving Thorunn to blissful silence up until Ulfric and Aela's arrival. Aela sighed in relief upon seeing her and Ulfric's shoulders visibly slackened.

"Harbinger," said Aela as Ulfric sat down on the edge of the bed and laid a hand atop Thorunn's. "Did something go wrong with the hunt last night?"

Thorunn couldn't help but laugh. "More than that," she stated. "I became the wolf in everything but physical form. Why?"

Aela looked down, pursing her lips thoughtfully. "I cannot say. There is only one possible explanation I know of, but it seems unlikely."

"Indulge me anyway."

She looked uncomfortable then, which only made Thorunn more eager for answers. Aela shuffled her feet, eyes darting to Ulfric and then back to the ground. "Have you... had an active sex life lately?"

Thorunn and Ulfric exchanged a look. She furrowed her brow, unsure of how that had anything to do with the matter at hand. "Yes, what of it?" she answered anyway.

"I could be very wrong, but it's plausible that you are with child, Harbinger."

Ulfric's hand tightened around hers and some of the color left his face, but Thorunn's reaction was quite calm. Something within her had already known, preventing the shock, but even so, it felt surreal. The only sense of motherhood she'd felt her entire life was when it came to the dragon's egg. It wasn't a very promising experience. She'd known since the moment she agreed to wed Ulfric, however, that she would someday need to bare him an heir. Whether this was the best time for it, she couldn't predict.

"With child?" said Ulfric, voice barely above a whisper.

Aela nodded, bracing herself for a storm that never came. "Do not take my word for it. You should see a midwife immediately for confirmation, Harbinger."

But Thorunn was barely hearing her. Her hand had found its way to her stomach. She needed no midwife and no confirmation but her own; there was a child within, she could sense it now that it was made clear. She didn't realize the faint smile on her lips until it dropped as she remembered the incident last night. "But what of the transformations? Will this become a monthly thing?"

"I am uncertain. The books I've read mention awareness of the excruciating pain, though they never say how it progresses as you come to term," Aela explained. "but it does say that the child will not be that of the wolf's blood. Your son or daughter will be a perfectly human babe."

Relief washed over her. The last thing she'd want for her child was the experience of the werewolf. She looked to Ulfric, searching his face for a reaction, but he was only rigid, staring at Aela with an unfocused look in his eye. "Ulfric," said Thorunn gently.

He looked to her at last. "I am a father," he said, though it came off as an inquire.

"You are."

He smiled softly as his hand moved from atop hers to her stomach. "A child borne of a king and the dragon's blood," he stated as though he were speaking to the life within her. "I do not know what that marks or means for the future, but whatever it may mean, this child will be our child first and the rest second." His eyes rose to Thorunn's. "With Talos as my witness, you are the love of my life, _lokaal do dii laas,_ and there will be no higher honor than to father your children."

Her smile was birthed from pride. "And no higher honor I would give you."


	22. King and Lionheart

Thorunn made a swift recovery the next morning. Ulfric had not left her side, warding off needless visitors, taking charge of her doses of health potions, and when the evening concluded, taking her in his arms as they slept alongside each other. She did not know their plans for announcing the pregnancy, but she doubted Ulfric was thinking about politics. When she woke, her eyes opened to his face, a lock of blond hair strewn across closed eyelids.

She moved a hand up to rest on his cheek. His eyes slowly fluttered open before a smile reached them. "Good morning."

She returned the smile. With surprising energy, she sat up and crawled over him to get out of the bed. She heard him sigh contentedly and turn to watch her. "We have come a long way," he said quietly.

She tossed a smile over her shoulder at him as she dawned her cloak. "We have," she agreed.

"I couldn't help but notice you have been spending an alarming amount of time within the dungeons lately," His tone had taken on a business edge. He propped his weight up on his elbow. "Any particular reason?"

She turned to look forward again, fastening her cloak with a silver Stormcloak brooch. "You did request that I speak with the assassin and attempt to make him see reason."

"Hm," He paused in thought and Thorunn turned to face him. "For a fortnight you have been late to bed because of this prisoner. Should I worry that he is stealing your affections?"

"You should worry that I will bash your face in if you ever suggest such a thing again."

He laughed. If only Thorunn was actually joking. "You wound me, dear lady." He stood, his smile lingering as he approached her. "We should get going before Sybille smokes us out. She cannot be pleased about our thievery of her bed." He pulled his cloak on, and with it the stoic attitude of a king. "Come, there is something I want you to see."

Ulfric had taken her to the courtyard, where tens of soldiers in Stormcloak armor trained with dummies or each other. Many she recognized, including Ralof and Istar Cairn-Breaker, the Stormcloak Commander of Haafingar. Many other faces her memory jogged at, most of them having been covered in the blood of Imperials last she saw them.

She looked over at Ulfric curiously. "Why here?"

Metal rung off of metal as steel swords clashed against each other. "You will be commanding these men soon," Ulfric told her, looking out at the training Stormcloaks with a prideful gaze. "I would have you know their names."

Only a few of the Stormcloaks taking a knee looked their way as they passed. Most of them were Nords, naturally, but some she noted were Bretons, Redguards, Imperials, or even mer. Contrary to Stormcloak propaganda, Skyrim was home to more than the Nords. Its army alone was proof of that.

Istar Cairn-Breaker, a handsome bearded Nord with auburn red hair and only one eye that he could see from, approached them once he'd seen they were here. "Your Majesty," he breathed in awe, putting a fist on his heart as he bowed his head. "Honored I am to stand in your presence." His good eye passed to Thorunn and he nodded in curtly acknowledgement, which she returned. "And you, Thorunn Stormblade. What can we do for you?"

Istar had played a vital role in taking Haafingar, Thorunn recalled. She'd stormed Fort Hraggstad with him at her side not long before the Battle of Solitude. He was a savage warrior, wielding a massive two-handed maul that struck fear in his enemies and killed those it didn't. He hailed from Solitude itself, if she remembered correctly, and had the most powerful reason of all for joining the Stormcloak Rebellion: The Thalmor took the life of his beloved wife while she knelt at the feet of a Tiber Septim statue.

"At ease, Commander," said Ulfric. "We are only passing through while I introduce my betrothed to some of the soldiers. Bring me Vunthar, Isha, and Kemaan, if you will."

"Of course, sir," heeded Istar, then left their presence to fetch the requested soldiers. He returned with the three at his side.

One of the soldiers was a seasoned Nordic man with cropped white hair and a notable scar striking the length of his face; another was a petite Bosmeri woman with a bow strapped around her shoulder and soft features; and the last was a Redguard man that looked to be no older than twenty-five, dark haired and freckled with a short beard.

Ulfric recognized all of them and greeted them with a warm smile. "Soldiers, this is my betrothed. As you well know, she played a key part in taking Solitude. She's due as much credit as I am in winning this war. Please, introduce yourselves."

The old man with the scar stepped forward. "Names Vunthar," he said, his voice gruff and accented. "Joined up after a bunch of Imperial lapdogs tried to steal me boots." He tapped his feet against the ground to draw attention to them. When Thorunn looked back up, he was grinning crookedly. "They didn't win."

She laughed.

"I am Isha," the Bosmeri woman said. Her voice was accented as well, but not with that of a Nord; instead of those native to Valenwood. "I could not save my own homeland from the Aldmeri, and so I come here to save yours." She had a rabid look in her eye that immediately earned Thorunn's respect.

She remembered Malborn, who'd helped Thorunn immeasurably while she infiltrated a Thalmor-sponsored party. Apparently, the Aldmeri Dominion was 'cleansing' Valenwood, and in this cleansing, Malborn's family was murdered. Thorunn wondered if this Isha had experienced something similar. She was reminded of how important it was to keep the Aldmeri Dominion out of Skyrim at any cost. "Your service is invaluable," she said respectfully.

"It is." the Bosmeri woman agreed, smiling appreciatively.

"And I am Kemaan," the Redguard said, bowing with a smirk on his lips. "I fought alongside my people in Hammerfell to push back the Aldmeri, and after hailing victorious there, I ventured to Skyrim to make more use of my sword arm."

She noted that all three of these people were here because of the Dominion and not because of the Empire. She supposed there wasn't too strongly a difference between the two now. "Your people are impressive," she said to Kemaan. "The first to defeat the third Dominion if I recall correctly."

"You do," Kemaan confirmed readily. "And remember it. The Redguards are unbent."

"That they are."

"Thank you for your time. You are dismissed." said Ulfric, not unkindly. The three soldiers dispersed after paying their respects with a bow or curtsy, then Ulfric turned to Thorunn. "You see? Three people, no more similar than winter and summer, and yet they unionize to fight a corrupt Empire in the name of the true High King."

"It is remarkable," she concurred. "But I am still uncertain why you bring me here."

"A king is lucky if he knows even a few names of his subjects, let alone their stories. In order to connect with your subjects, Thorunn, you must know their loyalty is true. The only way to know this is to know them. In return, you must give them a reason to be loyal to you. A man is much more likely to side with his friend than a stranger."

"Is this my first lesson at court?" Thorunn asked, amused though she valued his guidance.

He smiled. "The first of many. You have much to learn. Hopefully, we will have all the time in the world."

He said that like they wouldn't. "I do not particularly relish in the idea of going soft for politics," she said, ignoring her concern.

"You won't." His smile grew. "You'll go soft for this." He moved a hand to her stomach, rubbing it affectionately.

But she wouldn't, she knew, though she did not say it. The life developing within her would be the reason she hardened herself. She knew that the moment the child came into the world, she'd guard it as gallantly as the dragon had guarded its egg while she and her party took it down at the top of that mountain.

Ulfric didn't wait for a response that never came. He nodded his head and they left the courtyard to return to the palace.

The day progressed peacefully up until a courier arrived with the seal of the Aldmeri Dominion. He swiftly took his leave after giving the letter to Ulfric, something that raised Thorunn's suspicions. She looked down at Ulfric as he slouched comfortably in his throne, peeling the roll of parchment open.

The entire court seemed to hold its breath as they waited for a reaction. When Ulfric finished reading, he lowed it, taking in a sharp breath and rubbing his chin anxiously. Wordlessly, he handed the letter to Thorunn.

 _Congratulations on your engagement, Ulfric Stormcloak. Let us hope it is a long one, no?_

 _It will not be if the Aldmeri Dominion has any say in it. The moment you donned your crown, you signed Skyrim off to war, and this time we will not be open to negotiate._

 _Expect us._


	23. Redemption

That day marked the end of their short-lived peace.

"Galmar," Ulfric barked, standing up from his throne as he crumbled the letter until it completely disappeared within his fist. "Send a unit of fifty to the border. I want scouts at every post and every fort. If the Dominion is planning an attack, Skyrim needs to be ready." Galmar nodded and headed off to heed his commands. Ulfric turned to his steward. "Jorleif, start sending word to the Jarls. Tell them to warn their people and encourage them to join the militia if not the army."

"Would that not evoke panic?" said Jorleif.

"Damn it, Jorleif, do not argue with me right now." Ulfric growled. "The people need to be panicked if the Dominion is coming."

"As you say, sir." The steward bowed and hurried off to do his job.

"What of me? There has to be something I can do," input Thorunn.

She could tell Ulfric was having trouble gathering his thoughts. "Question the Imperial dogs we have in the cellars, see if any of them are sending intel back to the elves. I doubt that's the case but even so." He started walking towards the staircase. "I must alert the people of Solitude. Be-"

He never made it down the stairs. Beyond the walls of the palace, screaming could be heard, muffled by a series of thunderous crashes. Thorunn's heart jumped. Ulfric looked back at her. All he did was nod, and she was sprinting towards the armory to prepare. They had only moments before their enemies would be at the gates.

From within the armory, she could hear Galmar's shouts coming from downstairs. "Talos damn it, Ulfric! The elves outnumber us ten to one!"

"Fear not, Galmar. We can do this." came Ulfric's reply, calm and deliberate. Always calm and deliberate.

Thorunn's fingers fumbled at the buckles of her breastplate. She'd chosen her Stormcloak Commander armor- the best set she owned. The silver plate covered her from her neck to her toes and a gilded tasset hooked around her waist, a dark blue toga accented with gold draping over her shoulder and tucking into the tasset. There was no mistaking her for anything but a Stormcloak. She would have it no other way.

She wielded an axe made from Dragonbone and a shield of the same make. She grabbed her helmet- silver as well, crested with the bear of Eastmarch -and headed back into the throne room. Below, a good twenty guards were stationed at the door with their swords drawn, waiting for the inevitable crash at the door.

Thorunn turned to Ulfric. "We cannot just stand by while the city burns," she said.

"It was already burned before we even knew of it, Thorunn. All we can do is wait."

Her anger rose. "No true king waits to be burned. We need to get out there, now." If they were pinned down, they would have no hope of victory.

She knew she struck a nerve when he rounded on her. "You question my crown? At a time like this?" he demanded with his stentorian voice.

"I'll question any crown that sits idly by while his city is in flames," she snarled. Impatiently, she turned to the staircase and started to head down. "I'm going out there. You can join me or not, but keep in mind that your choice will define your worth." Without waiting for a response, she turned and marched down the staircase, then shoved her way through the guards.

All she could do was hope he would fall in line, but that was unlikely now that she'd put him on the spot. Ulfric's weakness rested in his fear of losing control. He was too prideful to admit his wrongs, and they'd learn tonight how critical that can be. She heard Galmar pick up where she left off with the argument, but she wasn't sticking around to listen. Rayya fell into step at her side.

"Don't open those, Stormblade!" one of the guards shouted as she and the Redguard neared the doors.

She opened them.

The scene beyond those doors was horrendous. Flames licked the walls, dancing vigilantly amidst the make-shift barricades the guards had put up in their haste. Bodies blackened with fatal burns inflicted by the battle mages of the Dominion plagued the streets. It was impossible to walk five feet without coming across another body.

"Dragonborn, wait!" someone called from behind her. She hadn't got two feet from the palace. She turned, finding Thongvor Silver-Blood with his blade drawn and his housecarl at his side. "I want to join you!"

She hesitated. This was a Jarl and the only one they had that was viable for Markarth. You're the only Dragonborn, she reminded herself. "Come on, then," she said, ushering him forth.

The Jarl of Markarth rushed to catch up with her and she continued down the winding path, Rayya at her side. A dirty woman ran past them cradling a babe to her chest, whimpering prayers to the Nine. "Talos guide you," Thorunn murmured, unable to do more than that.

The moment she turned the corner is when she walked into the thick of battle. She risked a look over her shoulder to see if Ulfric had come to his senses. Predictably, he hadn't, and the only person behind her was Thongvor. She whipped her head back around while Thongvor and Yngvar the Singer charged. They disappeared into the bowels of clashing Stormcloaks and Thalmor elves.

"You made the right choice," said Rayya.

"I know," Thorunn replied, then she, too, charged into battle.

Her blade found the gullet of the first elf she approached. Her shield remained positioned over her midsection, protecting the child within from harm. A guttural noise left the Altmer's body as she yanked her sword free and his body fell lifelessly to the sea of bodies at their feet. Just another number, Thorunn thought. There would be many more numbers to come.

A battle mage readying a ball of fire at the palm of her hand had her back turned to Thorunn. She didn't waste the advantage, coming up from behind and yanking the mage's head back to slit her throat. The Stormcloak soldier the elf had been aiming at breathed a sigh of relief, but neither he nor Thorunn stood on ceremony, swiftly moving to the next target, of which there was no shortage of.

Thorunn sized up her surroundings. If she used the Voice, three Stormcloaks would be caught in the blast, but seven more would be saved and six Thalmor soldiers would be taken down. One of the three Stormcloaks barring her aim had their helmet off. She recognized the soldier as Kemaan, an enraged snarl on his face as he reeled the flame-engulfed hand of an elf.

Thorunn decided against using the Voice for now. She rushed to his aid, bashing her shield this way and that to clear a path through the Aldmeri soldiers. She'd come back to them later. "Cavalry has arrived!" she shouted as she hammered her Dragonbone shield into the side of the elf attacking Kemaan.

"About time!" he called back, capitalizing on Thorunn's distraction and thrusting his broadsword into the stumbling elf's gut. "Where's the king?"

She didn't know how to answer that. She narrowly avoided being pulverized by a fire ball, sensing the heat reeling her way and dodging just in time. "Not here!" she told Kemaan, bringing her sword up with her as she recovered to take out an elf trying to bank on her stumble. Her sword slid cleanly across the tender flesh of the elf's neck. His blood splattered her face and he went down without further resistance.

She straightened. Ahead of her, Thongvor was fighting alongside his housecarl against a pair of elven soldiers. Their gold and red gilded armor gleamed in the flames engulfing the city. Thorunn glanced around for Rayya, spotting the Redguard rapidly slashing her scimitars through the air in a power attack against her foe.

Thorunn whirled, shield clobbering two elves at once. Their fall revealed a Stormcloak soldier getting his head bashed in with the hilt of a two-handed greatsword. He was already lost; there was nothing Thorunn could do now to save him, and she learned a long time ago that she could not save everyone. She returned to her daggers, dashing her blade across the neck of one and bashing her shield into the face of the other.

She felt something ram her back and stumbled forth. There was an elf wielding a sword-and-shield at her back, and when she turned, he was readying his rapter for the plummet into life. She latched onto her shield with all her might and brought it up to meet the blade, making it one of the most narrow misses of her life. The sword walloped onto her shield but its steel was no match for her Dragonbone. The sword severed in half.

Grinning, Thorunn dispatched her sword and eliminated the unsuspecting elf. She got back to her feet, knowing what she must do as she watched Stormcloak after Stormcloak fall before her. They were growing tired, losing hope and energy alike.

She reached out to the skies, drawing unimaginable power from the astral plane and projecting it into her Thu'um. " _Mid, Vur, Shaan!_ " The Voice was sharp and swift, seeking out her allies and reaching their exhausting arms to uplift them. All around, elves fell before her as the Stormcloaks' Battle Fury wreaked havoc. Thorunn picked off what she had to, which was very few; the Stormcloaks cut through the Dominion as if they were little more than corn stocks, turning the battle to their favor. Now all they had to do was keep that favor was the power of the Voice wore off.

Thorunn kept glancing around in hopes of spotting Ulfric, but to no avail. He had made his choice.

"Dragonborn!" someone called.

She knew better than to fall for that. She kept fighting, holding her own against one of the Dominion's battle mages. Why did they have so many damned mages?

"Dragonborn, they've breached the castle!" the someone from before bellowed.

She ruptured the elf's collarbone by sinking her sword hilt-deep into it. She placed a foot on the elf's chest as he fell and yanked her sword free, then whirled around to face the voice. That was why Ulfric was not here, then, she concluded. She hated to say it but she was never more relieved. He hadn't made the conscious decision to not help his people.

"How!" she yelled.

"Through the prisons!"

Her heart sank. Altair was either dead or about to be. She shoved past Stormcloak and Thalmor alike, abandoning the heat of battle to make her way to the prisons. She had to mow down several Thalmor along the way. They were swiftly dealt with in her fury-fueled haste. The door to the prisons was on the side of the Blue Palace, and three Thalmor soldiers stood positioned outside of it with their swords drawn and Stormcloak bodies at their feet.

She didn't hesitate this time. " _Yol, Toor, Shul!_ " she Shouted, inhaling air and exhaling fire. The elves realized they were doomed too late. They shrieked and struggled as flames enveloped their bodies, and Thorunn walked right past them into the dungeons, leaving them to their fate.

Nothing could have prepared her for what she found waiting for her inside. At least ten bodies in gold elven armor pooled at the ground, and standing in the middle of them was a slender man in nothing but rags and blood. A dagger drenched and dripping with blood was in his hand.

"They tried to kill me," was all Altair offered. He even shrugged.

Thorunn's sob was half a laugh. "Thank the Nine," she breathed.

"Yes, well, I suppose this is the part where you tell me to drop my weapons," he said. "To be clear, I didn't have it on me. I took it off this generous fellow's corpse after I strangled him." He nudged one of the bodies with his bare foot.

"You took down ten of these guys by yourself," Thorunn said, taking a step forward. It was clear to her now that if this man wanted to escape, if he thought for a second that he didn't deserve justice, he could have done so and left a trail of corpses behind him. "The last thing I will say to you in a moment like this is to put your weapon down. Will you aid me in picking off the rest of these milk-drinkers?"

Altair grinned. A drop of blood fell from his lip. "I'd like nothing more, but these rags aren't exactly fit for battle."

Thorunn looked down at the sea of armored bodies.

His grin dropped. "You want me to... oh, _gross._ "

"Sorry. It's the best we can do for now."

He sighed, clenching his jaw. "Fine, fine. Give me a moment and I'll be ready."

She gave him that moment, and he jingled and clinked when he walked up beside her, as ready for battle as he would get. The armor fit him quite well, surprisingly, but that had everything to do with his already-slender figure. He was made for light armor. They promptly left the prisons to head for the main gates of the Palace.

"Thorunn," Altair said softly. His tone was so genuine and gentle in contrast to the bloodbath surrounding them. It was enough to make her stop and turn to him. He was watching her with a look she couldn't place a name to; _renewal_ seemed appropriate. The smallest of smiles brushed his lips. "I think I've found my redemption."


	24. Hail Talos

Battle could be heard from within the palace. The ground shook as someone- undoubtedly Ulfric -used the Voice. Thorunn stormed the gates with Altair at her side and a bloodied sword in hand.

The first thing she noticed was that there were more Stormcloak corpses than elven. She exchanged a nod with Altair, pushing down her horror, then gestured towards one set of the stairs. He took the right and she took the left, ascending the staircase into the deafening sounds of war.

At least fifteen elven soldiers were on them. Holding against them was Ulfric, Galmar, and...

Thorunn pounded her shield into an elf to clear her view. Was she seeing correctly? Balgruuf the Greater, Irileth, Bolgeir Bearclaw, and even Elisif the Fair were taking up arms against the Dominion. Elisif was, to Thorunn's surprise, dressed in strong steel armor and wielding a sword and shield. Never would Thorunn have guessed that frail woman was a shield maiden.

In her surprise, an enemy's sword dashed across her back but was thankfully caught by her armor. Thorunn spun, bashing her shield into the assailant and finishing him off with a blow to the temple.

"What is the state outside the Palace?" Ulfric yelled, duel wielding his axes against a heavy-armored elf.

"Not good," Thorunn called back. She'd forgotten she was supposed to be angry with him. "Why are we fighting alongside Imperials?"

"No choice!"

She doubted that. She continued to fight, her Dragonbone set of weapons tearing through her enemies like wet tissue paper. She actively resisted the urge to turn against the Imperials. To her malcontent, Elisif was making a stark difference. Her footwork wasn't the best, but her strength made up for it. Her housecarl, Bolgeir Bearclaw, never left her side. Altair was raking numbers as well, duel-wielding mismatched daggers he'd picked off of corpses. Thorunn could scarcely keep up with his rapid movements.

She didn't want to think about what it would mean for the Imperials when this battle was over. They could turn against Ulfric, seizing their opportunity to kill him, or they could demand compensation and start another rebellion or worse. Ulfric didn't seem to be worrying about that as he readied himself for another Shout. The unrelenting force of his Voice came out in a wave of thunder, sending several elves flying off the first floor to their deaths.

Only four elves remained and they went down faster than a bear would take down an elk. Thorunn's sword found the heart of the first one; Galmar's massive battleaxe whipped through the midsection of the second; Balgruuf knocked the third on her feet then annihilated her with a blow to the neck; and Altair snapped the neck of the fourth with his bare hands.

There was a moment of awkward silence following the last death. Stormcloak and Imperial had joined together against the forces of the Aldmeri Dominion, but now what would they do with it?

Ulfric wasn't standing for it. He made it clear, then, that it hadn't been his choice to arm the Imperials. "I want all of you back down in the cellars with your weapons gone now, or by Talos you will end."

"Let us help you take back the city, Ulfric," Elisif reasoned, lowering her sword as she stepped forward. "You cannot do this with willpower alone. Let us fight alongside you not as supporters of the Empire, but as Nords." This woman had spoke one too many political speeches.

Ulfric seemed to be battling with himself, his expression torn. "You will put down your blades the moment the last elf falls, am I clear? After that, you will not demand compensation and you will not expect a reward."

"By the Nine, Ulfric, you already have your damned crown," snapped Balgruuf, ex-Jarl of Whiterun. "There's no Empire left in Skyrim to support. This paranoia has gone on long enough and I will not raise my children within a cellar."

"Then you shouldn't have returned that axe," Galmar Stone-Fist retorted, implicating the Battle of Whiterun. Blood stained his skin and armor.

"I cannot afford rebellion." said Ulfric.

"Neither could the Empire," Elisif argued calmly.

"Enough!" Thorunn barked, annoyed. "There's a city burning out there, in case you've forgotten. Ulfric, let the damned Imperials fight with us. We can argue about morals when we don't have an army of elves at our back."

For the first time since she forced Balgruuf to his knees in order to seize his city, he looked at her with a sense of pride. Thorunn didn't value neutrality, which was the very reason she didn't feel very opposed to forcing him to step down. She never had, but she still respected Balgruuf as a man only trying to look out for his family and his city.

"Gods damn you, woman," Ulfric swore. "Fine. You lot may fight with us, but I still want those weapons dropped when the battle concludes."

"Fair enough," Elisif concurred before Balgruuf could argue.

"Come, then." Ulfric ordered, stepping over bleeding bodies to make his way to the staircase and down.

Thorunn followed at his back, Altair on her right and Galmar on her left. Her hope was that her Thu'um was pulling through for the soldiers at the square. No doubt the bulk of it would have worn off by now, but a Shout takes hours, sometimes days, for it to truly go away; for example, a charged Unrelenting Force will evoke harsh winds on the opposite side of the country. That was why the Voice could not be taken lightly, and why the Greybeards were opposed to it being used as warfare.

The Imperial supporters flanked them as they left the Blue Palace. What little remained of the castle guards remained to make sure the palace was not taken again, but there was no stopping the Dominion a second time with only ten exhausted and wounded guards to their name. All they could do was simply hope it didn't happen again.

"How did this happen?" Thorunn hissed to Ulfric as they marched. The sounds of battle were closer than they were the last time she stepped outside, indicating that the Dominion had managed to push back more soldiers.

"I was on my way to join you when the elves started pouring into the castle," Ulfric explained through gritted teeth. "I still do not think heedlessly charging into battle was the right tactic, but you were right in that a king should not be passive while his city burns." The elves came into view. A tall golden-armored figure was bringing their sword down on a Stormcloak officer. "We will discuss this later." Ulfric said, then brandished his axes.

Thorunn got the message. She separated from Ulfric to fight her own battles, taking up arms against another battle mage. Before she could reach the man, he'd readied an ice spike and hurled it in a Stormcloak's direction. The spike impaled the Stormcloak's heart, and the man went down helplessly. Thorunn pulled down the visor of her helmet as she approached. Her sword met flesh the moment she reached the elf, but the attack was not fatal.

The elf whirled, hand swirling with piercing frost magic. Thorunn didn't have time to move out of the way of the incoming hand: The Dominion soldier grabbed hold of her neck and her entire body went cold as the frost magic weaved its way through her bones. If she weren't a Nord with a natural resistance to cold, she would have died upon impact. She fell to her knees, jaw too tight to be able to cry out in pain.

Then it stopped all at once. She gasped for air as warmth refurbished her body, relief and life flushing her essence. She looked to the elf who had fallen; a glass arrow pierced his forehead right between his eyes. Thorunn looked over her shoulder, spotting the Bosmeri elf Isha smirking victoriously.

"See? I save people," she said, curtsying.

Thorunn laughed, more out of relief than anything. She got unsteadily back to her feet, still recovering from the blow she'd suffered. Her throat continued to feel the effects of the frost, but it wasn't so overwhelming that she couldn't fight. She only worried that it could have harmed the baby, despite being in the early stages of the pregnancy where harm was unlikely. She pushed past her concerns and took on a warrior, Dragonbone clashing against elven steel.

A clash, then a snap, and the elven sword was broken. Thorunn finished off her weakened target. The battle wore on and with it its soldiers, Stormcloak and Dominion alike. She hated to admit it, but if it weren't for the Imperial supporters' extra hands, they wouldn't have been able to hold off as long as they had. Ulfric sent off a scout with word to the nearby forts for reinforcements.

Thorunn defected from the battle long enough to send a unit of ten to the gates to block off any more elven reinforcements. She took a breather during this time, breathing hard as she stood with her back leaned against the archway leading to the courtyard. This section of the city was eerily vacant, but the sounds of battle were never far.

Her Stormcloak Commander armor was battered and dented from deflecting a countless amount of swords and arrows. Her shield had held up unsurprisingly well, only a few scratches blemishing the bone. Moth gro-Bagol in Markarth had crafted both the sword and the shield for her- a gift in exchange for a Daedra heart. She wondered if the Dominion had breached Markarth as well, and if so, if Moth gro-Bagol was testing his mettle against them.

They'd been fighting for hours now. Thorunn had a feeling that this was only the beginning.

She heard a frightened whimper from nearby and instinctively raised her sword, cautiously approaching the sound. She kept her eyes on all angles until she spotted the gleam of golden armor from the corner of her eye. She spun to face the gleam, finding an elf in Dominion armor crouched behind a training dummy, frightened beyond repair.

Thorunn began approaching and the elf recoiled, slamming her eyes shut and whispering fervent prayers to a pantheon Thorunn knew nothing of. Upon closer inspection, she noticed the elf couldn't be older than sixteen. She was little more than a child and she was fighting in a war.

Thorunn lowered her sword but not her guard. "What are you doing here, girl?" she demanded.

The elf shook her head quickly, keeping her eyes shut tight and continuing to pray. "Answer me or I will strike you now," Thorunn promised.

Tremulously, the girl opened her eyes, revealing a set of golden orbs sparkling with tears. "I never wanted to hurt anyone," she whispered shakily. "I never wanted to hurt anyone. I didn't want this. Not this war, not this country, not here, not the blood, not anything. I just want to go home."

"How old are you?" Her tone had softened, but her sword remained ready to strike. The elves were a cunning folk and Thorunn would not be so easily fooled.

"F-Fifteen," the girl spluttered. "Please, I-I don't even know how to use this." She was holding a dagger that Thorunn had not become aware of until then. The girl tossed the weapon away from her, wanting nothing to do with it. The dagger skipped across the cobblestone ground uselessly. Thorunn noted there wasn't a single drop of blood on its length. "I just want to go home."

Thorunn sighed. What was she supposed to do with this? She looked over her shoulder as if the scenery behind her would have answers. "What's your name?" She didn't need the girl's name nor did she really want it, but she needed to keep the girl occupied while she decided what to do with her.

"Eriswe, ma'am," The girl- Eriswe -looked away. Seeing that Thorunn wasn't going to kill her, she'd calmed down considerably, but her yellow-tinted cheeks were still wet with fallen tears.

"I'm no ma'am," Thorunn told her. "Stand up and take your armor off. Any weapons you have, hand them over."

Shakily, the elf stood up and began undoing the buckles of her armor. Thorunn gestured for her to hurry up when it took her longer than fifty seconds to get her breastplate off. No weapons were to be seen, and within minutes, the girl was standing before her bare-footed in nothing but a thin under-dress. She was bony to the point of malnourished, her bones sticking out like sharp points. Most Altmer were built that way no matter how much they were fed, however.

Thorunn nodded. "Stay here and hide. I cannot afford to ensure your safety over my own people's. If you are still alive and here when the battle is over, I will find you, and we can go from there. Is that clear?"

"Clear, ma-" She caught herself. "Clear."

"Good." Thorunn picked up the glass dagger that had prior been in the girl's possession. She turned it over in her fingers, examining its make. It was finely crafted, certainly not the product of a lowly peasant. Thorunn tossed it back towards Eriswe. "Keep that. You may need it."

With that, she turned and made her way back to the thick of battle as if nothing had transpired. The Stormcloaks were now outnumbering the Dominion, at least three to one. Ulfric was at the head of them, his movements significantly slower but still efficient than they were before Thorunn had taken her break. There was a gash in his side that did nothing to slow him down. Galmar was at his side, brandishing his battleaxe like he'd just woken up from a pleasant nap.

And the Imperial supporters were all still making a difference. Ulfric would have no choice but to pay them what they're due when this was over. Before all this had happened- before as in when Alduin still stalked the skies -she would have struck these Imperials down for even suggesting they fight alongside the true sons and daughters of Skyrim. They didn't deserve such an honor. But now? Thorunn could live with their freedom.

The last elf to fall was when the sun was peering over the edges of the horizon. Undoubtedly, the Dominion had to have a presence elsewhere in Skyrim, but where they did not know. Thorunn knew the letters would be arriving by the hundreds given time. Solitude was the scene of a graveyard without dirt: Hundreds of bodies littered the streets, elves and Stormcloaks and civilians, even children and dogs and cows. The remaining soldiers worked to put out the fires and collect the corpses of their brethren. An uncountable amount of pyres would be lit today.

Slowly, as the sounds of battle came to a halt, the citizens of Solitude began peeking from their windows or cracking their doors open. They had no choice but to come out to the main square when Ulfric demanded the presence of all people for his speech.

He ascended the staircase onto the altar with Thorunn and Galmar at his sides. Behind the three were the rest of the main party: Altair, Thongvor, Rayya, Elisif, Balgruuf, their housecarls. Among the crowd below was Isha and Kemaan, but Vunthar was no where in sight.

"People of Solitude," Ulfric boomed wearily. The wound in his side was beginning to take a toll. He grabbed onto Thorunn's arm to steady himself. "The Aldmeri Dominion is here in full force. Do not fear them and never bow your knee to them. We are Nords, the sons and daughters of Skyrim, and no elf with a shiny blade can break us. But we will need your undivided support. Standing behind me are supporters of the exiled Empire, proof that men of all races and factions are welcome among us provided you prove your devotion to Skyrim.

"I beg of you, please do whatever you can to assist in the coming war. Our peace was blissful but short-lived, and we all knew that war was coming whether the Empire remained with us or not. If you cannot lend us your sword arm, any supplies, gold, or food you can donate would help immeasurably. The losses we suffered on this night were devastating, but we must make the most of our brothers' sacrifice. We must not bend."

The people were frightened. Many were sobbing against the shoulders of their loved ones. Many were angry.

"And let us not forget who warded off the Dominion on this day," Thorunn said, stepping forward. These people needed confidence in the people their protection depended on. "With Talos looming over us, the Stormcloaks defeated our persecutors valiantly with our good High King Ulfric at the forefront." In truth, it'd been Thorunn who conducted most of the battle, but these people didn't need to know that. "You must back your king now more than ever. Loyalty is the most powerful weapon."

For a moment, the only sounds audible were the quiet sobs coming from within the crowd. Then, ever so quietly, "Hail to the Stormcloaks."

"Hail to our Talos," another soft voice added.

"Hail to King Ulfric."

"Hail to the Stormcloaks." "Hail to our Talos." "Hail to King Ulfric." Before long, the words were a cacophony igniting the entire crowd, binding soldier and civilian at the seams. The crowd chanted until their confidence was mended and then chanted some more.

Thorunn looked to Ulfric. He was smiling.


	25. His Master's Voice

What the Empire supporters pulled was clever. Banking on an attack on the city so that Ulfric would have no choice but to release them made Thorunn feel like they deserved their freedom only because of a game well played. The four Imperial supporters were kneeling before the throne, Ulfric slouched comfortably within, Thorunn and Galmar standing at his sides. Ulfric was weary, pinching the bridge of his nose. He wore only a simple tunic over the bandages wrapped around his midsection concealing the wound in his side.

But the Imperials were not the only ones whose freedom was in question. Altair Silver-Blood was among them, head bowed, but not kneeling.

"What would you ask of me in return for your... assistance?" inquired Ulfric tiredly.

"Our freedom," Elisif the Fair said. She was a beautiful Nordic woman with auburn hair and soft features, hence the name. She raised her head to look up at Ulfric. Her words were calm, but her glare was one with hatred. Ulfric had widowed her, so her scorn was well within reason. "We have no desire to start a rebellion, not at a time like this. We will continue to fight alongside you if that is what it takes."

Ulfric's glossy eyes passed to Balgruuf. "Can these other three not speak for their selves?"

"We want the same thing, Ulfric," said Balgruuf the Greater. Like the three surrounding him, he was a Nord, traditionally handsome with braided blond hair and blue eyes. He still wore his armor. "Liberation from the Thalmor. My housecarl and I would continue to fight at your side."

"You think I would allow a traitor to brandish my banner?" said Ulfric calmly.

"I never wanted to side with the Empire." Balgruuf spoke through gritted teeth. "You forced my hand. What was I to do, Ulfric? I vouched for peace for the sake of my city and based my choice on strategy alone. More the fool I for doing so."

Ulfric shrugged in agreement.

Balgruuf sighed irritably. "Let me fight for my country so that my children may see a day where it is not plagued with war."

Thorunn thought of her own child, just shy of development within her womb. She laid a hand on Ulfric's shoulder. He looked over at her, raising his cheek from his fist, and she gave him a small nod. Ulfric wetted his lips and turned his attention back to Balgruuf. "As you wish, but you will continue to live under my supervision," Ulfric relented. "You may take up residence within the palace along with your children."

Balgruuf opened his mouth to further defend his case. He stopped cold when he realized he didn't need to, that Ulfric had yielded, then he narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What's the catch?"

"No catch. Just be ready to fight and remember that deserting is punishable by death, no matter who you support at heart." Ulfric's eyes passed to Elisif. "Am I to suspect the same from you? In exchange for your freedom, you will fight?"

"I will do my best, but you know I am no experienced shield maiden. I would prefer to pull a few strings and provide supplies for the army." she said, lowering her eyes.

"Do that, but I would also like you on the field. My lovely betrothed can train you, yes?" Smirking, Ulfric looked over to Thorunn, whose jaw was clenched.

"Fine, but I will not enjoy it," she stated. There were plenty of other shield maidens that could train Elisif. Why Ulfric had chosen Thorunn of all people, she could only guess.

He chuckled softly. "Atta girl. As for your housecarls, they may retain their positions. The other Imperial dogs of yours will remain right where they are in the cellars. The only time you may be allowed to possess a weapon is at my disposition. Now, go settle yourselves." He waved his hand dismissively, and the Imperial supporters dispersed, leaving only one man left awaiting trial.

Altair straightened up and clasped his hands behind his back, stepping forward while he cleared his throat politely. His expression was surprisingly stoic, but Thorunn knew the mocking smile was never far. "Your Grace." he said.

Ulfric tilted his head in acknowledgement. "You've done Skyrim a service. In exchange for the lives you took, you saved hundreds. If you give me your word that you will not take the life of another innocent, I will be willing to grant you the same pardon I did the Imperials. Join my forces in exchange for your life."

"I am not required to forsake my gods in favor of your Talos?"

"No, but a close eye will be on you at all times."

"Naturally." His signature mocking smile rose. "I will take it."

The king nodded. "Good. Take a guest room in the west wing." Altair curtsied and began to take his leave when Ulfric halted him. "And Altair? Speak with your father. Make amends. That's an order." His tone was firm.

Altair clenched his teeth, discontented. "As you wish," he seethed, then left the room.

Galmar replaced him at the foot of the throne. "We've received word from Markarth," he said in his gruff voice. "Kottir Red-Shoal says the Dominion has hit them as well, though the attacks are sparse as of now. They'll need reinforcements as soon as possible."

Ulfric sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Already we are spread too thin, but luckily, it seems the elves spent the bulk of their army on Solitude. I do not think they'll attack us so recklessly again." He stood with some difficulty, wincing as his bandaged wound protested. "Send Markarth the men they need. Four units of twenty, and I want those Imperials out of this city immediately, so send them as well. Tell Commander Kottir to limit their privileges."

"Will do, sir," Galmar put a fist over his heart respectfully then departed. Thorunn suspected he'd tell Kottir to do more than just limit their privileges.

With a sigh half borne of pain and half of exhaustion, Ulfric turned to Thorunn, who was standing tentatively. He moved a heavy hand to her neck, his thumb running across her jawline tenderly. "Words cannot express how relieved I am you are unharmed." His gaze slowly fell to her stomach, still hidden beneath steel. His hand passed to her waist. "And you," he added softly, speaking to the child growing within her.

"You should rest, my love," Thorunn told him, remembering the scared elven girl she'd found cowering behind a dummy in the courtyard. "Allow your wound to heal. I will join you later."

He looked disappointed, but nodded all the same. His hand moved back to her neck and he leaned to place a gentle, savored kiss on her forehead. "Yes," he agreed, out of his element. "Rest. Of course." He nodded for no particular reason, then allowed Jorleif to lead him to his quarters.

Watching them go, Thorunn sighed quietly. Skyrim was not ready for another war. They didn't have the resources, the numbers, not even the loyalty. Thorunn's confidence in that had spiked since "Hail to the Stormcloaks" had been chanted at the main square rally, but she had good cause to remain dubious. More people in Skyrim supported the Stormcloaks than the Empire ever estimated, that was true, yet it was not enough to defeat the Aldmeri Dominion.

They needed allies. Obviously, they could not call upon the Empire, nor did Thorunn ever think for a second that that would be plausible. Cyrodiil was out of the question and any province with Aldmeri presence went with them, naturally ruling out the Summerset Isles as well as the Bosmer home of Valenwood and the Bretons of High Rock. The Khajiit of Elsweyr were Thalmor pawns and the Argonians of Black Marsh were on a standstill and, henceforth, unlikely to want to involve themselves. The Dunmer of Morrowind were along the same boat, too staggered from the Accession War with the Argonians to prove of any real assistance even if they did agree to help.

That left the desert-home of the Redguards: Hammerfell. After rejecting the terms of the White-Gold Concordant, they entered into another brutal war with the elves then proceeded to become the very first province to push back the Third Aldmeri Dominion. They had good cause to resent the Empire. Thorunn knew that she and Ulfric would not need to worry about Imperial or Thalmor spies, not after what both factions inflicted unto the Redguards. Hammerfell experienced a strikingly similar situation to Skyrim- they, too, were once a province of the Empire, up until they rejected the Concordant and seceded from both.

Thorunn saw no reason they wouldn't at least hear Skyrim out, other than the fact that they were still recovering from their war with the Dominion. She would bring the matter up to Ulfric once he recovered from his wounds, and if he rejected the idea... Well, she was going to become queen soon anyway.

Leaving the thought behind, she left the Blue Palace to return to the courtyard in hopes of finding the Altmer girl alive. It wasn't likely, considering the Stormcloaks would have returned by now and most were not as open to stay their hand at the sight of pointed ears and gold-tinted skin. Her notion became a reality when she saw a crowd of blue and silver circled around something or someone she could not see. Some were laughing, others were flicking their wrist in alarming ways.

Thorunn shoved her way to the front of the crowd, silencing the soldiers as she went and as they realized who she was. There the Altmer girl was, sobbing and on her knees while a soldier snapped a whip at her. He never intentionally hit her, only snapped it a few inches in front of her to torture her with the idea that she would be hit. "Enough!" Thorunn bellowed, the edges of her Thu'um creeping into her voice.

That silenced them. The man holding the whip halted like a deer caught in torchlight. "M-My Lady," he stammered, dropping to one knee. "We were only taking care of a straggler. She's just one of them elves, m'Lady."

"Stand, man, and I am no Lady," snapped Thorunn. Not looking her in the eye, the bulky man clambered to his feet. "This elf surrendered personally to me. Instead of torturing her, you would have done well to bring her before the king. I doubt she posed a threat when you found her."

"I only thought..." started the man, but one of his friends struck her input.

"She did pose a threat, sir, she did. Took her knife and started swinging it this way and that. We's only teaching her a lesson, that's all." The woman- short-haired and dirty, likely only here to receive her money's worth -exchanged a look with the man, who was starting to look fearful. Clearly, they hadn't ran over their lie before executing it.

Thorunn shifted her weight to one hip, raising her eyebrows. "Uh huh," she said dubiously. "That so? What knife, may I ask?" If Eriswe the Altmeri had brandished her dagger, the Stormcloaks would have taken it from her. A subtle glance at Eriswe's belt made it clear they had not done so.

They exchanged another conspiring look and said nothing.

Thorunn nodded as if she'd expected as much. She walked towards the crying girl and effortlessly hoisted her to her feet. Now that she wasn't cowering or slouched, Thorunn noted that she was a good few inches taller than herself, and a good seventeen years younger. Eriswe was shaking, bottom lip trembling, a strand of dirtied white-blonde hair falling over her slanted gold eyes.

Thorunn pulled the glass dagger from the elf's belt and held it up for the crowd to see. "This knife, yes? Why, then, did you not disarm her?" she asked the persecutors.

The crowd started parting ways to make a path for a familiar man coming through, angry-eyed. "What's going on here?" Commander Istar Cairn-Breaker demanded. "Why aren't you lot training the newcomers I sent you? There's a war going on for Talos's sake, in case you missed-" His dark brown eyes landed on Thorunn and the Altmer girl. "Dragonborn. Is something the matter?"

"Your men decided to lie to me in order to justify their torturing of this girl," said Thorunn calmly as she lowered the dagger in her hand.

Istar's eyes went stern. "Who?"

"Those two." She pointed to the two in question, one of which was holding the whip.

Istar marched over to them and yanked both up by the collars of their mail. "You will not lie in the presence of your betters, is that understood? Let alone the Gods damned betrothed of the king." He shoved the two away and turned to Thorunn, all wisps of his anger replaced by an apologetic look. "What would you have me do with them, Your Grace?"

"Leave them. We can't afford to lose men now. I suggest you finger-wag them about torturing this girl instead of lying to me, however. And give them a long lesson on what to do with surrendered enemies that are barely in their teenage years." Thorunn didn't wait for his response. She looked towards the trembling Eriswe. "Come on, girl. Let's figure out what to do with you."

The elf nodded eagerly and Thorunn made her way back through the crowd. She felt no pity for this girl. Girl or no, she still made the conscious decision to take up arms against Thorunn's men, and that was unacceptable. That she surrendered wasn't what gave Thorunn pause. Any other time, she'd laugh and strike the enemy dead anyway. But this elf taking small, careful steps beside her was a misguided girl, especially in the eyes of the elves with their prolonged lives.

She led the elf back to the Blue Palace and up to the throne room. The only people in the room in Ulfric's absence were Freya Gentry and the court wizard, Sybille Stentor. Both women were quietly minding their own business, not reacting to Thorunn's arrival despite the oddity she had with her.

Ulfric was resting, thus unavailable. Thorunn realized with a jolt of surprising excitement that for once, a matter was completely in her hands. That power tasted good. She turned to face the elf, whose eyes were on the ground.

"Look at me, girl," Thorunn ordered. The elf did as bade. "You say you are no combatant?"

"N-No. I know a little bit of magic- er, all of my kind do, I suppose -but none of it is destructive. I can heal people and I can cook and clean and wash linens, even sew. If you won't let me return home... I'll do what it takes for my life."

"Do you have parents?"

She looked away again.

"Look at me."

She obeyed reluctantly. "I do, but they... They don't want me. They wanted a battle mage, not a daughter, and, well... I can't be that. They forced me anyway, and that's how... how I ended up here. I want no part in the war, I swear to you. All that talk of mer being the superior race and how we have to rule the world, I don't care for it. I love my home and my people but what they're doing... It isn't right, I understand."

Thorunn weighed her options. "Even so, you were part of their army, if briefly. Do you know their plans? Where next they plan to hit?"

"They were talking about spreading East. Forgive me, ma'am, I don't recall the name of the city, but they spoke of snow and cold weathers."

 _Windhelm,_ Thorunn knew, her heart dropping. "What else? How did they reach Solitude? What route did you take to get here?"

"High Rock, ma'am. We crossed the Eltheric Ocean into High Rock. The Bretons had no choice but to let us pass because of the treaty."

"Yes, yes, I'm well acquainted with this treaty," Thorunn said with an impatient wave of her hand. "Do you have anything else to offer in regards to their future plans?"

"No, I'm sorry," She hung her head. "What... what will become of me?"

Thorunn thought on it. This elf could be useful, but Thorunn wasn't sure if she was useful enough to prove an asset rather than a liability. There was also the matter of this girl feeding her a line of bullshit in order to weasel her way into Ulfric's plans and secrets. Thorunn made her decision.

"You can become my personal ward and servant, nothing more. You will not be permitted to attend formal gatherings of the court and you are not allowed free roam of the palace. You will be under constant scrutiny and not relayed any information whatsoever on the coming war. The only time you may leave the city is at my side should I choose to bring you along. Understand that the only reason I am allowing you your life is because you are a child that didn't object to giving me the information I requested. You will not send any letters, own any land, conspire with any of your kinsmen, don any weapons, or do virtually anything without my consent. If you display good behavior and do nothing that would give me cause to suspect your disloyalty, we may speak of you becoming a battle maiden. You'll heal soldiers and perhaps become apprentice to Freir at the Temple of the Divines. Are we clear?"

Eriswe curtsied. "Yes, ma'am. Thank you for my life. Thank you."

But Thorunn didn't know if she was truly doing this elf a kindness.


	26. In Her Own Right

The milk of the poppy made Ulfric weary and somewhat delusional. He spent more time than anticipated in bed, sweating and rambling about spriggans or something. He'd make a full recovery, the healers promised, but they'd have to make due without him for a while. Thorunn took over in his stead, and to her surprise, she absolutely loved holding all the cards.

Eriswe made a dutiful servant. She waded on Thorunn's every need, despite Thorunn rarely asking for it, and was kind and polite to all the nobles that passed through the castle with their noses turned up at her. Once her face was cleared of dirt and grime, it revealed surprisingly beautiful features; sharp and angular, typical of an Altmer but softer somehow, with thin arched eyebrows and long blonde eyelashes shadowing fiercely golden orbs. The plain cloth dresses she wore didn't quite fit her right, having been tailored for Nordic bodies. Their lengths were much too short and the sleeves as well. Thorunn promised to see to it that more appropriate dresses were made for her, and Eriswe bowed her head with a gracious smile like someone had never done something so kind for her.

With Altair's new freedom, he, too, spent a good amount of time at Thorunn's side. He was opening up to her more, as one did when they weren't locked in a prison cell, smiled easier and didn't stand so rigid. Reluctantly, he spoke with his father, seeming to have made amends but refusing to go into detail of the meeting with Thorunn. "You can ask me about anything and I'll tell you," he'd told her, "but not my father. Anything but my father." She'd respected his wishes and refrained from prying.

Against their predictions, Altair even began participating in war strategies. Not officially, of course; he was never present during war table meetings, but Thorunn found herself regaling him with what went on during these meetings. Altair would offer his input, which Thorunn would pass on to the official attendees as her own ideas. More often than not, his ideas would be a grave assistance. He'd point out whatever Thorunn looked over ("You forget the Forsworn. Perhaps you can work something out with them to convince them to help fight the Dominion, a portion of the Reach or something," as a start), remind her of obstacles she needed to be reminded of, solve equations she proposed.

They made a rather good team. She sensed something amiss in Altair, though. He felt like he'd abandoned his family, she knew, yet he was too prideful to admit it. She wished she could reach out to him, but there were still boundaries between them that she dared not cross. There were parts of Altair's mind that she had no right to unlock, and the same applied to him with her. Such as how it goes.

Two weeks passed. Ulfric was slowly attending more and more council meetings and spending less and less time bedridden. He didn't speak much during the meetings, watching over it with a critical gaze and only allowing his input when he saw something wrong. He'd nod approvingly at the upbringing of clever plans and shake his head in dismay in response to bad ideas, which sometimes seemed to outweigh the clever ones.

On the days his wound was particularly gnarly and he spent the whole day in bed, Thorunn would return to him in the evening and tell him all about the day's events and discussions. Her stomach was growing, graciously but steadily. Her dresses became tight and her armor snug. It wouldn't be long before her entire wardrobe would need to be refitted.

"I've called the Companions to arms," Thorunn told him one evening he'd spent resting. She was sitting on the edge of the bed next to him, her fingers entwined with his. "They say they will remain in Whiterun, ever vigilant at the side of the Jarl. I've convinced Vignar Gray-Mane to appeal to the Battle-Borns," That had actually been Altair's persuasive writing, not Thorunn's. "and he's agreed to give them a talk. I suspect that means forcibly telling them that if they don't fight, they'll be hanged by their balls, but whatever raises their swords. They say they will fight for Skyrim and Whiterun, but not the Stormcloaks. Whatever, same difference.

"I've also recruited several mercenary bands. The Vaulting Drakes have fallen under our banner as well as the Pale Pommels, the Siren's Pillagers, Calder Lanes, and Fitmans, and they're inviting friends. Together, they make up a good three-thousand men, but they don't come cheap. We need to find a way to bring in more gold and quickly. Velerys Dothri has some ideas on that, but it's not my responsibility to get the gold, only to use it, so I tuned out the moment he mentioned fiscal responsibility.

"Markarth is holding against the Dominion, but barely. I dispatched three more units and I fear I may have to man my own journey there soon, before I become too big to fit my armor. There, I can negotiate with the Forsworn and perhaps come to an agreement with them. I know what you're thinking, love, but we need every sword we can get.

"The Altmer girl I picked up says the Dominion plans to head East, undoubtedly towards Windhelm. We'll want to get there long before they do. For now, I should think the Reach keeps them plenty occupied. Our borders are secured and no matter which angle they come from, they'll have to go through a battalion of ten thousand men before breaching. That ten thousand may become five thousand if they're needed elsewhere and we can't make the proper negotiations. Let's try to avoid that.

"Lastly, I plan to send a raven to Hammerfell. They seem to be the only ones viable for an alliance. They were able to push back the Dominion once, so we'd be unstoppable with the Redguards at our back. What do you say?"

She searched his face. There was no judgement to be had within. Something different she'd never quite caught mixed with his expression before was there now, clear as day: Pride. He was proud of her, an affectionate fondness laced into his genuine smile. For a brief while, he said nothing, savoring the moment and idly rubbing his thumb along her hand.

"You are a queen," he told her. "You do not need a crown to tell you that."

Thorunn smiled. She didn't need to be told. "So you approve, then?"

"I do," he declared, taking a deep breath. "When I am recovered, I will take that journey to Windhelm alongside Galmar. I will need you to remain here to keep the peace and govern."

Her appreciation twisted to angry confusion. "What? Why? You are more a politician than I am."

"You forget yourself, my love," Ulfric said, eyes passing to her swollen stomach. "You have another life to think of, one whose life depends on yours and your well-being."

"It is not so late in my pregnancy that we need worry about harming the babe," she insisted. "I will go to Markarth. Your place is here." She had plenty of skilled combatants to keep her safe that she could take with her. She'd take Rayya and Altair, perhaps Isha and Kemaan and Vunthar if he still lived. Her Companions back in Whiterun, too, if Ulfric's fears were truly so grave.

He sighed heavily. "You are stubborn, to your credit. Very well. Bring back results, will you?"

"I won't be returning without them," she assured him.

He smiled, closing his eyes briefly. "I will be ready to take up my full duties again by tomorrow. If things are as dire in Markarth as my scouts make it seem, you should be quick on your way. Take another unit with you to ensure your safe arrival and see to it that Thongvor Silver-Blood returns with you. He lingers for his son when he should not.

"Another matter entirely, I fear we must delay our wedding due to this unfortunate turn of events. The moment this war is put down, we will be together under Mara's gaze, I promise you."

"I'll hold you to it." She leaned forward and tenderly kissed his forehead, then stood. "I will leave on the morrow, then. I'll inform Commander Istar and give a heads up to the men, then I will return to you."

He nodded understandingly. "I look forward to the day you are by my side permanently."

 **X X X**

As it turned out, Vunthar was alive and as angry as ever. He had a fresh scar going from his jaw to his ear, which he loved to boast about. Isha and Kemaan agreed to ride with Thorunn and Commander Istar Cairn-Breaker promised her the unit she requested. Rayya, naturally, told Thorunn that she needn't even ask, and Altair was pleasantly surprised when Thorunn announced her desire for his sword at her side.

Thongvor Silver-Blood agreed to return to Markarth, stating that he was eager to return home. Thorunn refrained from pointing out that nothing had been holding him here in Solitude. She also refrained from telling him of her plans to negotiate with the Forsworn, deciding against arguing with him on this night. He'd undoubtedly argue when the matter inevitably reared its head, but not now.

She returned to Ulfric's quarters roughly an hour later. Ulfric was sound asleep, his features illuminated by the light an orange candle cast. He stirred at her arrival but did not wake. _Tiid amvit los ved,_ the times ahead are black. Black they were indeed, and this blackness weighed heavy on her heart.

She removed her mail plate carefully, setting the armor gently on the dresser beside her. When she stood in nothing but a tunic that reached her thighs, she climbed into bed, melting into the comfortable cushions and savoring the feeling. She would likely not feel it again for some time.

There was another thing she would not feel again for some time. Ulfric's back was facing her when she rolled onto her side and she curled into his backside, wrapping her arm around his waist and burying her face into the comfort of his linens. She breathed a quiet contended sigh, appreciating the warmth he offered and taking not a single moment for granted.

She laid awake for some time, thinking of the coming battle and war and of what she was going to say to these allies she was supposed to be seeking. War was in her bones, as it was in every soldier's body. But now she was part of something more than a war. She was no longer just a soldier. She was commanding an army, leading it, inspiring it and being its rock. Few things scared Thorunn more than being depended on.

 _I'm not alone,_ she reminded herself as she opened her eyes to Ulfric's back. She brought a hand to her Talos amulet and squeezed it tight. _I'm not alone._


	27. Blessings of Mara

Little swirls of orange and red danced elegantly around the large egg, ensuring the magnificent beast within's survival. The egg was just shy of a foot long, the scales that coated it harboring the same colors as the fire surrounding it. Thorunn thought of the egg's mother, how she had been an elder with a gold hide as well. Elder dragons were always the most protective and prideful, Thorunn had noticed throughout her years of dragon hunting. A frost dragon might fight for its prey, but it wouldn't linger if it sensed it was going to lose its life. The elder dragon mother at the peak of Freedom's Redoubt hadn't even taken flight for fear of leaving her offspring unattended.

That day felt like eons ago. She still had no answers for what would become of this egg. For all she knew, the court wizard could be wrong, and the dragon inside could have long since died. But that couldn't be right. Thorunn could sense the ferocious life dwelling within, waiting for the perfect moment to crack its protective shell and peek into the world. When would that moment come, she wondered as she sat before the hearth on her knees, staring into the foreboding flames shrouding the egg.

Something had changed in the egg since Thorunn and Ulfric's conception of a child. Something strange yet stronger was stirring within the egg, seemingly fueled by the life that laid in wait in Thorunn's womb. _Does the dragon know?_ she pondered. _Was it put into my hands by Talos Himself to protect my son or daughter?_ That part was unpredictable. They did not know what would come out of that egg, whether it be a scaleless, helpless newborn dragon or a miniature hellion determined to avenge its mother.

Oddly, Thorunn felt bad for leaving the egg behind a second time. She'd considered taking it with her, but the last thing she wanted was to add another responsibility on top of protecting her own stomach. She did not desire to leave the egg unprotected, so instead of gifting it with her presence, she slowly reached up and unclasped the Amulet of Mara resting around her neck. She hesitated, then gently laid the amulet down on the stone forefront of the hearth.

Mara was the Mother-Goddess of love and maternity. If any of the Divines could protect this egg with something not hostile, it would be Mara. More than that, She was the wife of Akatosh, chief deity of the Divines and the Dragon God of time. Ulfric had blessed Thorunn with this amulet as a way to solidify their engagement. Now that it was solidified, she supposed she could afford to use it as a ward for the dragon egg.

"Come to me, Mara," Thorunn chanted quietly, "for without you, I might forget the ways of our fathers, and preening by the light of latest fashion, my words might tremble like the thin reeds of novelty in the tempest of enthusiasms."

The gem at the center of the amulet's charm gleamed, a soft magical sound emitting from it. Mara was listening.

"Shroud this creature in your protective arms," requested Thorunn. "Guard it with love and see to it that no harm comes to pass. Motherhood is the most precious gift of all, and Your good grace has given it to me in more than one way. Shroud the life developing within me, as well, and ensure that this life lives long enough to see the world You have blessed." She paused, watching the designs on Mara's charm shift and gleam subtlety. Thorunn's eyes closed. "In You I live soberly and peacefully. I honor my parents, and preserve the peace and security of home and family."

When she opened her eyes, the shifting gleam had ceased, leaving behind a serene warmth spreading through Thorunn's core to the very edges of her being. The fire of the hearth shone brighter then, licking the very top of the egg instead of sticking to the bottom. Thorunn knew for certain that Mara's grace would be with the dragon's egg and her womb alike. Going to Markarth suddenly wasn't so nerve wracking.

The morning goat horns sounded from outside, an obnoxious _harooooooooooooo_. The markets were opening, what little of it remained after the attack, and the army was wolfing down their plain breakfast to ready themselves for a day of hard, meticulous training. Twenty of them would be leaving to join Thorunn on her journey to the Reach.

Steadily, she got to her feet and donned her brown cloak. A fox's furred skin lined the collar, its snout reaching her elbow and its tail swinging past her forearm. Beneath the cloak, she wore traveling leathers, trimmed with fur and accented with a number of buckles and satchels for storing various potions and poisons. Thorunn didn't deal in poisons, but she did pack several healing poultices. The leathers she wore was a gift from ex-Jarl Balgruuf the Greater, who had once been a man she called friend.

Like many things, those days were long past. Thorunn took one last savory glance at the elder dragon egg before taking her leave, hand gripping the hilt of her Dragonbone waraxe. The sword she had of the same make was still being repaired by Beirand, the city blacksmith, along with her shield, so she'd had to make due with a tweaked Dwarven shield instead. Fitting, considering where she was headed.

When she walked into the throne room, her main party was eating breakfast while they waited for her. This included Rayya, Altair, Thongvor Silver-Blood, and Yngvar the Singer. Where he got his name from, Thorunn would love to know. She hoped he'd live long enough to give her the opportunity to ask.

Ulfric was at the head of the long table, some of his color having returned to his naturally fair skin. He'd neglected his finery, wearing only a tunic and trousers, and the braids in his hair were sloppy and untidy like he'd slept on them. He looked exhausted, but healthy enough. An affectionate smile on her lips, Thorunn approached him from behind and leaned down to kiss his temple before straightening back up to redo the braids in his hair.

"Good morning, love," he greeted, not turning his head so that he wouldn't disturb her deft fingers working at his hair. "A carriage is waiting for you whenever you're ready to depart. Your stallion has been armored and groomed, as well."

"Good," Thorunn approved, tying off one of the braids then moving to the next. "Are the three soldiers I requested tagging along?"

They could always use some variety in their main squadron. Thorunn, Rayya, and Thongvor would cover the sword-and-shield aspect, serving as the guardians and the cavalry. Yngvar the Singer would be the berserker, heaving his massive two-handed greatsword, and with Vunthar's muscle added to it, plus Altair and Kemaan's duel wielding and Isha's ranged attacks with her bow, they'd be unstoppable.

"Yes. Your Altmer girl is going too. Without you to protect her, this city is not a good place for her." Ulfric may have had no strong feelings for the elves, but he didn't actively try to persecute them either. In his city of Windhelm, he'd put the Dark Elves in the Gray Quarter and the Argonians in the port only to stop their inane quarreling; the Accession War's tensions had indeed carried over into Skyrim. Or so, that was what Thorunn was led to believe.

"I'd have it no other way," affirmed Thorunn.

As if on queue, Eriswe herself walked into the room carrying a tray of sweet rolls, frosted bread, and steaming hot tea. Her white hair was disheveled from sleep and dark bags hung under her slanted eyes from the lack thereof, but the smile on her face when she saw Thorunn was as genuine as ever. Thorunn nodded towards the table and the elf sat the tray down on it for the attendants to eat as they pleased, then she stepped back to mind her own business. Thongvor held a pretentious scowl on his face, refusing to touch the food the elf had delivered, and Thorunn was reminded of why Ulfric didn't want her in the city without active protection.

Thorunn finished with Ulfric's hair then claimed the seat to his left, with Galmar Stone-Fist across from her and Thongvor Silver-Blood at her side. Galmar was displeased about being forbidden from going to the Reach, so he spent a good deal of the breakfast brooding and grumbling. He'd sulk now, but in the end, Ulfric would be kept safe, so Thorunn wasn't sweating it. She ate the cabbage stew before her while the rest of her people bantered. They were quieter than usual with the shadow of war looming over their shoulders.

Breakfast came to a conclusion and it was time to get on the road. Ulfric decided to see them off, so he walked alongside their party on the trip to the gates. Civilians called out at him and he rebuffed them with a patient, kingly hand. "My king! To you I swear my loyalty!" one woman cried out, to which Ulfric smiled and waved his thanks. "You'll protect us, won't you, Majesty? You protected us from the Empire. You can protect us from _anything_ , my pa tells me so." a little girl said to him, approaching him boldly. Ulfric smiled reassuringly and told her, "That's right, young one. You and yours will always know safety under my hand." He was bluffing, Thorunn knew, as no wise king truly believed he had the power to wave off any and all trouble. But no wise king would openly admit that to a ten year old girl, either.

Others stared in awe as they passed. Many uttered an oath, whispering to the wind, "Hail King Ulfric," "Hail Talos," "Hail the Stormcloaks." Something especially peculiar was that they were starting to revere Thorunn, as well. "Hail the Dragonborn," they said. "Hail to the High Queen." She supposed her few weeks of sole ruling had worn on the people. She reacted passively, unsure how to feel about it, but Ulfric laid a cool hand on the small of her back as they walked to ground her. The city was eerily quiet save for the people's uttering and the distant clash of sword-on-sword as the soldiers trained.

As they neared the gates, Thorunn saw her unit waiting for her. Isha, Kemaan, and Vunthar were among them, standing at the forefront with their respective weapons. Isha was an elf of brown- brown skin, brunette hair, doe eyes, as was typical of the Wood Elf people. Kemaan was much the same, only darker; his hair was cropped and jet black, his curls spiraling. Vunthar was the complete opposite with fair skin, short white hair hidden beneath a hide helmet that framed his face, hazel eyes and a cleanly shaven face. His old age showed in the wrinkles wrought in his face and the slight hunch to his back, but his glare was that of a tempered young man. Thorunn's eyes fell to his expensive leather boots and she smirked, remembering his reason for joining the army. She bet he slept in them.

Ulfric sighed wearily as they halted, turning to face his betrothed. "And now our time ends again," he said sullenly, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "Come back to me, Stormblade, and on your return I promise you we will not delay our wedding a single day longer." His eyes fell to her stomach and he knelt to be eye-level with it. Thorunn found the sight of him on his knees to be oddly alluring and her smirk grew. "As for you, little one, do not trouble your mother more than she deserves for that smirk on her lips." His eyes, amused, briefly rose to Thorunn's before drifting back to her stomach. She chuckled softly. "You must come back to me as well." He planted a tender kiss on her belly, then rose to plant a kiss of the same make on her lips.

"Go, then," he said as they broke apart. His voice was louder now, meant to be heard by more than just the armored woman in front of him. "May Talos guide you in the coming battle." This time, he turned to make sure his words were heard by all.

The soldiers surrounding them cheered and banged the hilts of their swords on their shields, invigorated by the presence of the man they fought for in the first place. From beside Thorunn, Eriswe's shoulders trembled slightly and her golden eyes were wide with apprehensive fear. Thorunn understood why she was afraid. That girl had been with an army led by someone who had no relationship with their soldiers. Whoever they were, the people they commanded were seen as weapons, not actual people, and they were to be treated as such. They weren't given boosts of morale, weren't blessed by the presence of their betters, weren't _motivated_ by anything but a means to an end. Thorunn had no doubt of this when she saw the look in Eriswe's eyes.

And she had no doubt that the army they were heading off to take down would harbor that same look when the Stormcloaks came marching.


	28. Reliance

**This chapter may not be up to par as I wrote it while tired and slightly tipsy, so there's that. Happy belated Halloween! As always, reviews are wanted and appreciated.**

 **X X X**

Markarth: The history-rich city of stone, rumored to be built by the renowned Dwemer, claimed by Forsworn but occupied by Nords, and birthplace of the notorious Stormcloak Rebellion. It was a long and tiresome distance from any other major city, with both main roads cutting through valleys, mountains, and rugged terrain, ripe with bandits, Reachmen, sabertooth tigers, and other nameless foes seeking the lives of wanderers. Thorunn had detested every trip she took to this treacherous city, but then she hadn't had anyone to accompany her. Now, she had a full battalion.

Aegetha strode at a leisurely pace with her straddling his back. He was almost as armored as she was, with reins guarded by iron, a saddle forged from steel, and a crupper and shaffron of the same make. Sharing a saddle and sitting behind her was Eriswe, who'd been fitted with enough armor to deflect a good deal of blows without giving out. To her left, Thongvor Silver-Blood rode his mare- also armed to the teeth- and to her right, Rayya rode a borrowed stallion. Altair, Vunthar, Isha, Kemaan, and the twenty nameless soldiers making their unit rode behind, some on horses and some not.

Thorunn rode a couple yards ahead of the battalion for most of the ride, taking it upon her to scout. Sabertooth tigers prowling the prairie hissed warningly at her approach, but sulked away when the squadron caught up with her. They passed a camp of giants, as well, but stayed well out of range in order to not evoke the giants' territorial wrath. Each of their massive steps was timed with a thunderous bang, and they waved their giant clubs at Thorunn's party as they passed. All around them, their docile mammoths grazed without acknowledging the oddity. Thorunn's curiosity was sobered when she saw the cow not far from the camp; it was painted with white traditional runes denoting peace and generosity. A farmer must have donated it to the giant to keep it from becoming bloodthirsty to travelers. Thorunn thanked whoever may have left the cow.

"They say the runic scars carved into the giants' chests are religious symbols," chimed in Altair, bringing him and his horse up to her side. "To Malacath, or so scarce evidence suggests. The patterns the giants carve into themselves and their mammoth's tusks are often seen on shrines to Malacath as well."

"Fascinating," Thorunn deadpanned. She was tired and weary from the trip. It did nothing to put her in a good mood.

Altair shrugged it off and kept going, knowing she would be interested later. "Many believe this means they're related to the Orcs somehow, but other texts say they originated in Atmora."

 _Atmora_ caught her attention. It was the alleged birthplace of men, and was once a land of green and fertility now turned to inhabitable ice. Nobody knew what caused the climate to deteriorate so abruptly, but anyone who didn't migrate to Tamriel in time succumbed to the below freezing temperatures centuries ago. Some said that all can be found there now is frozen bearded kings, but there was no way to tell if that was true or not. What was true was that it was the birthplace of Tiber Septim and Ysgramor.

At any rate, she doubted the gargantuan humanoids that herded mammoths and dabbled in art once lived in Atmora. "How do you know all this?" she asked, turning her head to look at Altair pensively.

His smile was almost bashful. "My mother loved to tell stories." It was the first time he'd mentioned her since Thorunn had known him.

She wasn't going to throw him off by making a big deal out of it. She nodded and turned her head back to the horizon. "Maybe both of those theories are true," she suggested blindly.

"Beastfolk aren't known to have lived in Atmora," he stated matter-of-factly. Thorunn smirked, pleased with getting the reaction out of him that she wanted. "Which is why the giants' origins are so puzzling. I cannot recall the details of it, but something to do with the painted cows suggest Atmora. Everything else suggests Orsimer. Then again... well, the giants do tend to ignore the cows, do they not? They ignore them and attack holds and farmers' fields anyway. In fact, the painted cow seems to encourage their fury."

Thorunn looked back at the cow grazing the giants' camp. Its watchers seemed peaceful enough. Thorunn shrugged. "They look pretty pleased with the beast to me."

Altair grinned at that. "How would you know?"

She looked a second time, mildly confused. The scene had not changed. One of the three giants scratched his rear as he watched the cow oddly. "I don't think they know what to do with it," she said, turning back to Altair none the wiser.

"Who can say?" He shrugged.

"What are you lot on about?" piped in Thongvor Silver-Blade.

"Oh, nothing, dear father," Altair sighed, annoyed. "Only small talk of giants and painted cows."

He harrumphed, malcontent, and both Altair and Thorunn dropped the subject after that. The journey continued in quiet, the tension between father and son lingering and souring Thorunn's mood further. She prayed her own child and Ulfric would never harbor such hostility towards each other.

They stopped at a ridge in the evening to eat dinner and give their horses a much-needed rest. Thorunn's inner thighs were sore when she dismounted, but she didn't let it slow her down. They rationed bread, pork and mead among the soldiers. Eriswe offered to serve, but Thorunn declined, telling her that the soldiers would not treat her kindly. That was sugarcoating. Eriswe was a pretty young girl with armor thin enough to show her figure. More than that, she was an Altmer, so the soldiers would see no reason to be courteous. Sexual harassment and impolite gestures were only the beginning of the trouble Eriswe would face if she walked through that crowd alone.

So instead, Thorunn kept her at her side and glared off any soldier's whose eyes wandered. Men would be men, and Thorunn didn't blame them for that, but by Talos, they were still annoyingly obnoxious. Upon finishing their tasteless dinner, they remounted their horses and took to the road once more. Thorunn stuck to the paths in the mountains in order to avoid a scuffle with the Forsworn or worse. While the goal was to reach an agreement with the Forsworn while here, Thorunn first needed to display that she wasn't here to fight them, she was here to fight the Dominion, of which was a threat to more than just the Nords.

As they passed through more treacherous mountains and ridges, Thorunn realized why the Dominion had not yet managed to take Markarth. By all logic, they should have easily taken Markarth without even its Jarl to protect it. It was clear to Thorunn that these mountains she passed that annoyed her so had been the sole factor in ensuring Markarth's victory thus far. That, and the heaps of soldiers she and Ulfric had been sending here as well as Markarth's own inherent defenses.

In the far distance, she could hear an orotund voice bellowing orders. "Carrus, get those blades sharpened, and get it done fast. The queen and her men are going to be arriving any day now and we need to be ready. Saddle that horse, Anthis, and Frigga, I expect you to have that armor on in fifty seconds."

They rode up to the Stormcloak camp. Commander Kottir Red-Shoal turned out to be the harbinger of the orders being executed. He looked frazzled and exhausted, with a bloodied bandage wrapped around his upper arm, a countless amount of bruises covering any exposed skin, dark circles under his deep brown eyes, and what looked like a fresh burn starting at his jawline and disappearing beneath his dented Stormcloak Officer armor.

"Archers!" he bellowed when he saw their approach. About twenty arrows were then trained on Thorunn and her entourage, ready to fire the moment she made a wrong move.

"At ease, men!" she called.

"The queen," Kottir breathed when he realized. "Stand down! Make way!"

As Thorunn's stallion came to a halt at the outskirts of the camp, she dismounted and approached the Commander. Thongvor Silver-Blood followed suit. "I'm not queen yet," she pointed out.

Kottir chuckled out of relief. "You may as well be. My men are bellowing your name almost as much as Ulfric's now. I don't think it really matters whose name they call, only those they take." He looked past her shoulder at the unit she'd brought. "You brought more men. Good. We lost over fifty in our last scuffle and I'm still counting bodies. The Dominion hasn't breached the city yet, but they're going to, and we can't evacuate civilians with them barring the way."

Innocents would die, but at least it'd be for the greater good. "We can't be concerned with civilians right now," she said firmly.

"With all due respect, ma'am, the civilians are who we're fighting for. Those are our families in there. If you have a way to get them out, maybe do something with that Voice of yours..."

"How opposed do you think they'd be to a dragon?" said a new voice. Thorunn looked sharply and discovered the speaker to be Altair, dismounting his horse and walking up to join them.

"What?" said Kottir, inconvenienced.

"What?" echoed Thorunn.

Altair looked back and forth between the two. "During the Battle of Solitude, you called in a dragon," he explained. Thorunn had no idea how he knew about that, but he was quick to address her confusion. "That battle is famous for ragged wings coming unfurled and raining fire onto the helpless Imperials. A lot of people believe it was Akatosh Himself, swooping in to support the rightful king. But anyone with half a mind would know that you, the Dragonborn, conveniently stationed at this battle, called that dragon in. Perhaps you could do the same for Markarth, only this time the dragon's job is to evacuate the people rather than kill them."

"Are you suggesting... these people ride the dragon while he removes them from the city?" Thorunn said, aghast. It was among the most far-fetched ideas she'd ever heard.

"That's ridiculous," Kottir said, dismissing the idea with a wave of his hand.

"And your only option, or so it would appear," Altair retorted.

"That... might work, actually," Thorunn said thoughtfully. "The city is hard to reach, even from the sky, but if we could somehow get word to the city guard not to shoot at the dragon... We need to get in there ourselves. How hard will that be, Commander?"

"This is _ridiculous_ ," he repeated.

"How hard will that be, Commander?" she said again, firm.

He sighed. "I'll humor the idea, but I still hold to it that it is ridiculous. Getting into the city isn't impossible, but at the gates is where the fighting is thickest. If you can comb your way through, you can reach the gates but that doesn't mean you can open them. They undoubtedly barred it. You'll have to wait until the next bout of soldiers is released before charging, and even then you only have a very small opening. It'll be a narrow slip."

Thorunn exchanged a look with Altair. "When is the next release?" she asked the Commander.

"There's no way to tell. The Jarl's regent is sure to have no patterns, so that the Dominion can't predict their next move. You could send a raven, but there's no guarantee it won't be shot down, and if it's shot by the wrong person, the enemy will know your plan."

"It's reckless," Thorunn stated. She never was the cautious sort, she supposed. When she next made eye contact with Kottir, a decision was in her eyes. "We'll send the raven. We'll be vague. Thongvor, there has to be some symbol or another that will let your Thane know it's us and not a Dominion dog trying to trick her."

"There is," he said grimly.

"Good. I will call Odahviing. Provided he even agrees to this... we may have a plan."

With that, she turned to the skies.


	29. On Deaf Ears

Their plan was not hard to keep up with, but what it lacked in complexity it made up for in being far-fetched. Thongvor Silver-Blood was to write and send a raven to his Thane, who would hopefully follow the clear cut instructions within. While the raven flew overhead, Commander Kottir Red-Shoal and Thorunn would lead their soldiers into battle with the hopes that it would distract and occupy the Dominion well enough to keep their eyes off the raven.

It wasn't necessary that they get into the city, but Thongvor was raising Oblivion when it came to the subject, loudly insisting that Markarth needed its Jarl. One could argue that they'd been doing fine with Vikkesia Hrethgir, but it would fall on deaf ears. So because of Thongvor's persistence, their goal had gone from securing the city to getting into it.

The Jarl himself was in the tent, sitting at a table and hastily scrawling on a piece of parchment. Thorunn was a ways from camp. She'd need a lot of open field for what she was about to do. Reaching out to the skies, past the mortal realm and into that which she drew her Voice from, she opened her mouth and tensed her body. "O-dah-viing!" she Shouted.

The ground rocked, but Thorunn held her balance. She intensely watched the clouded skies for a familiar winged silhouette... only it never came.

Confused, Thorunn cooled down for a moment, pacing the field in search of those jagged wings. She gathered her reserve again after some time without answer. "O-dah-viing!" she repeated.

She brought a hand to the Amulet of Talos stationed at her chest. "Do not fail me now, Talos," she whispered. Again, she drew forth her Voice and propelled into those agonizingly vacant skies over and over again. An hour had passed, and still no dragon appeared. Sighing irritably, Thorunn plopped down on a boulder, hugging her knees to her chest. Odahviing had never left her Call unanswered before. Was he in trouble? Was he angry with her for something? He was shrewd, but he wasn't disobedient, especially not over some petty squabble Thorunn wasn't even made aware of.

So he had to be in trouble. Why now? Thorunn couldn't abandon the war to embark on some impossible journey to save a dragon. "What's wrong?" inquired an accented voice from behind her. She glanced over her shoulder, spotting the Bosmeri soldier Isha.

"Odahviing will not answer me," Thorunn responded, turning her head forward again. She heard Isha's nimble footfalls approaching until they stopped and the Bosmeri woman plopped down beside her on the boulder.

"Perhaps he grows tired of duty," pondered Isha. Dark circles hung under her arched brown eyes and her cheeks were even more hollow than that was typical of elven folk. "He is a dragon, no? They wish to fly and hunt and be free, not bow to the whim of mortals and fight human wars."

Thorunn's eyes passed to the ground beneath them. She sat in silence for a long moment, thinking, then glanced back up at the skies hopefully. Still, no dragon flew ahead. "What happened to your family, Isha?" she asked suddenly.

Surprisingly, a grin rose to Isha's lips. Her canines were sharp and longer than humans' were, something that did not escape Thorunn. "My family is like your Odahviing. They did not wish to fight wars and adhere to mortal squabbles, and so they took to the skies." Her grin faltered and some of the fire left her eyes at Thorunn's lack of laughter. "My parents played a big part in the resistance. I was only a girl of seven (that is almost a newborn in your human years). They tried to keep me and my four siblings hidden, but we all knew it was only a matter of time. I was hunting one day, something I was not allowed to do yet something my parents could not stop me from doing if they were not there, and saw the Dominion soldiers marching through the forest. I did not go home that night. I should have, to alarm my brothers and sister so that they could alarm my mother and father, yet... I did not. I went home a week later and found our trees burned to ashes. The corpses of my brethren were among them."

Thorunn blinked. It hadn't struck her just how far these soldiers' stories went until then. "What of your parents?" she asked, forgetting her manners. Once curiosity had taken her, there was no stopping it, not even the wetness in Isha's eyes.

"I do not know," she answered. "Nor do I care, if I am honest. I am of fifty years now. In the seven I knew my parents, I saw them perhaps a handful of times. Part of me relishes in the knowledge that they came home to nothing one day. A bit of revenge for their negligence." Her smile was honeyed this time.

Thorunn's eyes took to the sky again. Still, there was no shrouded silhouette to block the sun. "Perhaps they grew tired of duty, and left Valenwood to fly and hunt and be free." She cracked a snarky smile that Isha returned full-heartedly.

"Perhaps." she agreed. She got to her feet and dusted her hands off. "We-" No later than that, the war horns were blowing, loud and obnoxious over the wilderness.

Thorunn was to her feet in seconds. "Come on," she said, counting how many times the horn was blown. One, she counted as she rushed to the camp. Two. Three. They were marching. Why?

When she reached the camp, it was up in chaos. Soldiers were hurrying around everywhere, some of them clambering onto whichever horse was in their proximity and taking off while others were donning their armor. Servants were tossing food and tents into baskets and storing them elsewhere. Thorunn spotted Eriswe standing not far off, fiddling with her thumbs and looking dumbfounded on what to do. Thorunn pushed her way through the crowd in search of the commander.

But all she found was Thongvor. "What's going on?" she demanded, drawing her sword.

"Dominion soldiers are marching down the bank. That dragon of yours would really come in handy right now." Thongvor grunted as he hoisted an iron breastplate over his head, buckling it at his sides and shoulders.

"Talos damn it," Thorunn uttered. Their hopes of sparing the civilians of a battle was over now that the fight was knocking at their door. Thorunn did not have a dragon, but she did have more reliable Shouts up her sleeve.

"Well? Do you have a plan?" The Jarl had to raise his voice to be heard over all the clamoring.

Thorunn glanced around as if that would help her miraculously form a strategy. It was fight-or-flight, and Nords did not flee under any circumstance. "Fight," she concluded. "Keep pushing once we deal with these milk-drinkers. We may as well help out the men at the gates if we're already at it."

"I'd have it no other way." Thongvor grabbed his battleaxe and disappeared into the crowd.

"They've breached the city!" came another voice. This one Thorunn recognized as Altair. When she turned, he was rushing towards her, his daggers unsheathed. They weren't bloodied yet, Thorunn noted. "There's hundreds of them. We're outnumbered five to one. Our scouts just came back with word that they're already nearing the palace."

"Thongvor won't be happy with that," Thorunn commented. Years of battle had trained her to be eerily calm in these situations.

"Neither will the people of Markarth, I imagine."

She shrugged in agreement. "We need to get down there. I want you shielding the archers. You won't be at my side, but I'll be able to reach you if you're in a pinch. Where is the commander?"

"He's already at the bank."

Thorunn sighed irritably. "Naturally. Very well, we'll make do with what we have. Come on." She jerked her sword towards the pathway and began marching down and through the heaps of soldiers. War drums thumped at her ears, only slightly louder than the Stormcloak footfalls.

Thorunn halted at the edge of the ridge. It was all she could do to stop herself from gasping. Elves, hundreds of them, thousands, all dressed in gilded armor and hungry expressions, arrows notched and swords at their sides. And every point was trained directly at Thorunn.


	30. Shades of Red

**A/N: This chapter, 28, and the upcoming ones are chapters I finished a while ago, but didn't post due to lack of motivation and confidence. I haven't written anything for this novel in a while, but I will most like come back to it eventually! Just need some incentive. Reviews and the like are always appreciated and ever helpful, and thank you to the guest review who motivated me enough to post these!**

Thorunn had always associated red with fire and brightness. The fire of a dragon's Shout, the fire of the hearth at Ulfric's bedside, the fire of a pit on nights of comely traveling, the fire in Ulfric's eyes when he gave speeches to his men, the fire in Thorunn's own heart. There were other types of red, too, that were equally beautiful; that of Aela's familiar, of Vittoria Vici's wedding dress, of the poppies outside Thorunn's old home in Falkreath, of the Dragon's Tongue the Greybeards loved so dearly, of the jewels in Ulfric's crown.

Red was all she could see now on this battlefield, and it wasn't the red of those comforts. It was the red of Alduin's eyes, of Skjor's and Kodlak's blood seeping from their wounds, of the Imperial heraldry, of the Dark Brotherhood and blood and red, red war. Thorunn didn't know if the blood on her hands was her own, her brothers-in-arms', or her enemy's. What she did know was that the blood- crimson and betraying -trickling profusely from a gash in her left thigh was hers, and she could not walk on it. She was kneeling in the sea of corpses and midst of battle, the point of her sword planted into the ground while she used the hilt for support. Ahead of her, three elves were ganged up on one Stormcloak. Not far from there, a Dominion archer was poising an arrow towards a distracted Stormcloak. To her left, Altair was on his last leg, steadily crumbling as he worked against the relentless blows of the two elves attacking him.

Isha was still going strong. She was one of the few. Her arrow seered through the smoke-clouded air towards the heart of one of the elves attacking Altair. The arrow found its mark, and red red blood started dripping there too, not unlike the red Altair inflicted with his daggers. He gathered up what little remained of his strength and propelled it into one final blow against his second attacker. No later than when the elf collapsed, Altair followed, sagging to the ground.

Commander Kottir Red-Shoal was nowhere to be found. Thorunn hadn't seen him, Vunthar, Eriswe, or Kemaan since before the battle had begun. Her housecarl, Rayya, was holding her own against a group of elven vanguards. Thorunn knew, with a sinking feeling of desperation in her heart, that she could not save her. They started the battle outnumbered five to one, and it looked like they were ending it ten to zero.

"M-my queen..." came a weak voice from behind her. "You have to... get out of here." She heard heavy footfalls, as if it was taking the speaker's every effort to put one foot in front of the other. Thorunn had taken a nasty blow to the eye and could only see out of her right one, but with what little she could see, she identified the speaker (coated in blood and grime and mangled features though he was) as Thongvor Silver-Blood.

Thorunn's grip on the hilt of her sword tightened. "No," she stated firmly. Or, what she perceived as firmly. In reality, the word came out as a broken wisp, carried away by the clinking of steel on steel and the cries of dying men. A hand grabbed her arm, Thongvor's she presumed, and before she could protest or resist, her world went from red to black.

[SOLITUDE; TWO DAYS LATER]

"What do you mean Markarth is lost?" Ulfric roared, standing from his throne abruptly. His blue eyes bore into Jorleif's browns, furious.

"The Dominion attacked their flank, sir. They were not supposed to be aware of the Stormcloak camp, and yet they were. Hundreds came from absolutely no where." Jorleif was generally a collected man, but now his hands were trembling and his voice was wavering.

Ulfric let his fury subside for half a moment so he could think. The past week had been one of the most nail-biting stressful weeks of his thirty and five years. Fidgeting had become a habit, and often he found himself zoning out during council meetings. With the war came a tide of new problems arising throughout the country. Rorikstead and Karthwasten were taking the brunt of it, given that they were closest to Markarth. Solitude was next in that line of ire. Ulfric had no choice but to consider returning to Windhelm.

He wouldn't be going anywhere without Thorunn back at his side, however. And as of right now, whether she was alive or not was up for questioning. That was not acceptable. "Someone within our ranks must be an Aldmeri spy," Ulfric suggested.

"That is not an unreasonable assumption," Jorleif agreed.

"We should worry about spies once we have the queen and her charges back within arm's reach," piped in Galmar Stone-Fist. "Our brothers come first. We should man a journey of our own to see this slaughter for ourselves."

"That would be suicide," argued Jorleif sharply. "Solitude cannot be left without someone to maintain order."

A feminine voice cleared her throat. All eyes turned to the culprit, whom Ulfric identified as Freya Gentry. She and her Breton counterpart Velerys Dothri seldom sat on council meetings as of late. Freya was their spymaster and Velerys their coinmaster; two roles generally unneeded when it came to war. Spies and secret intelligence might be of use to an Altmer, who stabs from behind, but not to a Nord.

"You have plenty of suitable regents to rule in your stead if you were to make a trip to Markarth," said Freya. She was tall with sharp features and fair hair tied into a uniformly bun at the nape of her neck. She wore a steel breastplate over her velvet finery and a dirk at her belt. "Jorleif, for instance, or Galmar, or myself."

"I go where Ulfric goes, woman," Galmar spat. He was always wary of rogues and spies, and with good reason. Ulfric remembered vividly how Galmar's own wife had turned out to be an Imperial agent who turned on him once he'd overstayed his welcome with the Stormcloaks.

"I am staying here," Ulfric stated firmly. The Dominion was lying in wait for the perfect chance to seize Solitude, he knew it. The moment he left it vulnerable, it'd be gone. He couldn't leave, not even for his queen. "We're spreading our men too thin. Sending another unit to the Reach would likely just result in more deaths, considering how easily the rest of them were cut down. Jorleif, I want you to tell my commanders to start boosting efforts to recruit. I want the Stormcloaks broadcasted ten times more than when we were fighting Imperials. Back then we had only half of Skyrim and people were lining up by the hundreds. Now we have all of Skyrim; there is no reason we should be struggling."

"As you say, sir," Jorleif bowed and departed.

"And Freya, there is no reason you shouldn't have intelligence that could help us."

"I would not be here if I didn't, Majesty," she retorted sharply. "My snakes say that Vikkesia Hrethgir is behind this attack. She let the Dominion into the city. As for who sold the Stormcloaks out at the camp, they have an Altmer servant girl there. Eriswe, they call her. For now, her story rings true, but I would keep an exceptional eye on that one if she still lives."

"Why would Hrethgir let the Dominion take the city? What does she have to gain?" Ulfric demanded. He vaguely knew the woman; she was a close friend of Thongvor's- trusted, otherwise she wouldn't be his regent. She did have a questionable absence in the war against the Imperials and the Great War, but Ulfric had thought nothing of it until now.

"Markarth, of course," Freya said as if the answer were obvious. "Power in exchange for allowing the Dominion to reap the benefits and establish supreme rule. I am led to believe that a letter was sent to Vikkesia by Thongvor, and that is what cemented her decision to allow the Dominion in. This letter's contents are lost to the sacking. My advice: Do not trust Thongvor until he is proven innocent."

Ulfric had a hard time seeing Thongvor betray them in favor of the Dominion. Thongvor had always been loud and firm in his love for Ulfric, the Stormcloaks, and their cause. Ulfric needed Thorunn for more than just his love for her. She could clear up the mess of this situation.

Regretfully, he couldn't spare men to go find her. He knew elves wouldn't be able to take down a woman like that. He wasn't worried for her life more than he was worried for Markarth and its loss. He'd come too far against the Imperials to lose everything he'd worked for to the elves.

"Very well," Ulfric conceded. With a heavy sigh, he sat back down in his throne. Such an uncomfortable thing it was. "For now, we wait and listen. We can do little else."

The crown never felt heavier.


	31. As You Stumble

When her eyes opened, her world was blue. Quiet chatter lofted from a few voices. It wasn't silent, but the noises were so different from those of battle it was agonizing. A spoon clinked against a pot and Thorunn's head sharply whipped towards it, mistaking the noise for blade on blade. She relaxed when she saw what it truly was, her head falling back onto the ground meekly.

She'd glimpsed onto four faces, two of which she didn't recognize. One was Thongvor, the other was Kottir Red-Shoal, and the other two were both fair-haired Nords. "She's awake," said one of them quietly.

 _I'm awake,_ Thorunn repeated silently. _I'm alive._

It was cold here, where ever they were. The wind was chilly and biting and the ground was damp. She quickly glanced down at the grass to make sure it was wet with rain and not blood. She saw that someone had bandaged her thigh, but it was still splotched with bright red from where the wound was open. Above her, the sky was blue, and beneath her, the ground was green, and around her, the air was clear.

"We've lost Markarth." The voice was distant, too far away for Thorunn to sincerely reach it. "The Dominion is nesting there as we speak. There are other survivors, but they've yet to make their way here."

 _Altair,_ Thorunn thought. She started remembering names and the feeling of loss. _Isha, Vunthar, Kemaan, Eriswe, Rayya, Yngvar the Singer._ She repeated the names over and over again to make sure she didn't forget them. She sat up with excruciating struggle and only then became aware of a wound in her side. Her eyes widened. The babe, she thought. The babe doesn't have a name. Wincing in pain, she brought a hand to the Amulet of Talos around her neck and clutched it tight.

"Your child is fine," said Kottir gently. "Does Ulfric know you are with child?"

She nodded, the motion so slight it was barely discernible.

If Kottir responded, she didn't hear it. Nords didn't shy away from battle, no matter the circumstance; pregnant, ill, old, it made no difference. Thorunn's own mother had fought while pregnant with her. Some said that would make the child a strong warrior. Thorunn didn't know if she believed that, but she wanted to.

Her vision was beginning to clear and her head wasn't spinning so badly. She turned her gaze unto the two unfamiliar Nordic faces. Her eyes widened when she saw the leftmost one. "Ralof?"

He smiled, but it was weak. "None other."

He looked different from the last time she saw him two years ago. Older, with a few grey hairs spotting his golden tresses despite only being twenty and nine, and there was a scar streaking his forehead. His blue eyes had lost some of its compassion. He'd lost friends.

Thorunn wanted to return the smile, but it hurt, so she didn't. Eating was even more painful thanks to the wound in her side, so she didn't do that either. She did get some water down, but little else. Hours passed with her silently listening to the news her companions exchanged. It was too dangerous to revisit the battlefield at this point in time, but they made plans to return the moment they deemed it safe. Two days had passed with Thorunn being unconscious, she was told, and they'd moved far enough away from the field that they were nearing Falkreath. Thorunn kept watching the skies, stone-faced and pained, still hopeful that a dark winged silhouette would fly ahead to their rescue...

" _O-dah-viing_ ," she caught herself whispering meekly. She was much too weak to Shout, but a trace of the Thu'um laced the words, little more than a vibration in her chest. " _O-dah-viing_."

The others didn't comment.

It wasn't until evening that the scenery shifted. Three soldiers were coming down the field, one of which was carrying a bloodied unconscious body. As they neared, Thorunn identified one of the figures as Vunthar, and in his arms was the body of Isha. Thorunn checked those names off of her list of remembrance. The other two silhouettes she could not place names to, but she recognized their faces from earlier battles against the Imperials. One was an Orc, towering tall over the humans he walked alongside, the blood coating him like paint. The other was a Nordic woman, dark-haired and tan-skinned. Rare features found in a Nord, but her firm jaw and flared nostrils were still discernible.

Commander Kottir stood at their approach. "Give her to Brugi. He'll do what he can to get those eyes open." he instructed Vunthar. Thorunn presumed the Nordic man next to Ralof was Brugi, whom was undoubtedly responsible for her own bandaging as well.

The relief she felt at the sight of familiar faces worked better than the healing poultices. Altair, Kemaan, Rayya, Yngvar the Singer, Eriswe, she chanted. Vunthar laid the small elven body before the Nord in question and collapsed no later than that, sighing heavy with relief.

"The fighting is still going on," he heaved, brushing some dirt off of his boots. Those boots had been his whole reason for joining the Stormcloaks. Thorunn deemed that curious. "Lot'a dead bodies out there. Not all of them Stormcloaks, though." When he grinned, he flashed two missing bottom teeth that had been there before the battle.

"We sent word to Ulfric," Thongvor input. "He'll send reinforcements, he will. He won't leave us to the wolves out here."

 _He will,_ Thorunn thought, but she said nothing. _He will because he knows we've lost._

A soft chime-like sound emitted from the healing magic Brugi inflicted unto Isha's comatose form. There was a nasty gash starting at her collarbone and cutting through her armor down to her breast. A rogue had done that, no doubt. A warrior stabs, a rogue slashes.

She didn't know what they were going to do now. Their army was disbanded and Markarth was lost. Thorunn had suffered losses in her life, but none so great as that of a battle. Losing tasted sour, and she feared this was only the beginning of the end. What if siding with the Stormcloaks hadn't been the right decision? She was certain her reasons for doing so were justified, but was it enough? The Empire had been the fine line standing between Skyrim and the Aldmeri Dominion's ire. Certainly, the Empire being in Skyrim was temporary in itself, but perhaps they'd annihilated that line much too soon.

It seemed her greatest enemy was doubt. The Forsworn's help was out of the question now that they couldn't reach them and there was no way the mercenary bands Thorunn had recruited would reach them in time. As for Hammerfell, that was up to Ulfric. Thorunn sincerely hoped they would come around. The Redguards were their last hope.

"We can't just sit here," Thorunn said finally. It was the first time she'd spoken since her whisperings of Odahviing.

"We can't go back, either," replied Kottir.

"I didn't say we were going to," she snapped. "We should continue East into Whiterun. I have friends there that could... give us an edge." As in shift into man-eating werewolves and wreak havoc unto the elves and beyond. "Then we'll go back. We cannot count on Ulfric to keep wasting men on us. I am going to be the queen, and I won't be one who depends on her husband for every limb." And she wasn't going to leave their brothers behind. Vunthar said the fighting was still going on, which meant the Stormcloaks were still standing, however many.

And she'd die before she ran away from battle.

"She speaks true," said the Orc. His voice was orotund and loud with a heavy accent. Thorunn imagined it was like that even when he whispered. "I joined these Stormcloaks for glory. There is no glory in fleeing." He got to his feet, and Thorunn had to crane her neck to look up at him. She'd never seen a man so tall and buff. Instead of Stormcloak armor, he wore nothing but a skirt of animal skins and a harness around his shoulder. "I am Mulnak Ufthel of Dushnihk Yal. Honored I am to meet you, Dragonborn."

He extended an arm and she took it, starting to hoist herself up when he cut her short and lifted her to her feet effortlessly. A sharp pain seethed through her wounds and she stumbled, only for him to catch her and steady her balance. When she looked up at him, he was smiling, his jagged fangs sharp in his prominent underbite typical of the Orsimer. "As your subject I steady you when you stumble," he said. "I will give you my strength as long as you give me battle."

"There will be no shortage there," she quipped.

"Glad I am to hear it." In one fluid movement, he had his arm under her knees, lifting her in his arms without so much as a grunt. Thorunn yelped in shock, eyes widening at this abysmal display, but relaxed as she realized what he was doing. He turned to face the others. "To Whiterun!"

Slowly, the men started getting to their feet. Vunthar took Isha into his arms again, the same way Mulnak carried an indisposed Thorunn. With their hearts bare from the loss of their friends, and red, red blood covering their broken bodies, this ragtag band of Stormcloaks made way to Whiterun.


	32. Witness This

Mulnak heaved the Dragonborn to Whiterun without an utter of complaint nor any sign of fatigue. An impressive feat, considering Thorunn wore heavy-plate armor. Even so, they had to stop periodically for Brugi to send a dosage of healing magic into Isha's slow-beating heart. Thorunn grew worried when the Bosmer's eyes went four hours without opening, despite their efforts. Luckily, Whiterun was home to the Temple of Kynareth, and within were priests who'd learned the ways of healing their entire life. Doubtlessly, they would be able to tend to the elf.

It was hard to stop remembering the way Altair had collapsed on the battlefield. Thorunn hadn't been able to discern if the collapse had been from death or exhaustion, but her hope was on the latter. With each second they dawdled, the chances of their injured comrades surviving grew slimmer. If they were lucky, the Dominion would leave those soldiers to die. Better that than to be taken captive and tortured into spilling information about Stormcloak whereabouts.

Ulfric himself had been taken captive once. Everyone knew the result of that maelstrom, but the gory details Ulfric had only disclosed to Thorunn within the confines of their private quarters. He spoke of regular lashings, starvation, the stank of death and decay wafting from the damp walls of his dark cell. The rats, of all things, had become his beacon of hope. Those pessimistic rodents had been the only living things that passed through those cells that weren't hostile and trying to hound information and submission from him.

The skies were breaching darkness when the gates of Whiterun came into view. Thorunn had been dozing off, entirely comfortable and warm in the arms of the Orc carrying her. The guards recognized their armor and shield heraldry at once and opened the gates for them without question. Behind their helmets, Thorunn imagined their eyes were full of questions they knew better than to ask.

Familiar faces were a sight for sore eyes. Adrianne Avenici was tanning leather outside her shop, speaking with Amren about some exchange they were warding. Lydia stood outside Breezehome, Thorunn's house when her only worry had been taking down Alduin. Those days paled in comparison to what she faced now, it seemed. Lydia must not have recognized her, as bloody and dirty as she was, thus she didn't react when they passed.

The marketplace had no lack of names, either. Fralia Gray-Mane advertised her jewelry, Carlotta Valentia and her daughter their fruits and vegetables. Lit torches hung from the sconces outside the tavern, inviting and comforting to weary travelers.

Mulnak walked through and past the Cloud District. Thorunn desperately wanted to stop at Jorrvaskr, to drink mead and sleep in a warm bed and worry about the burdens of the world on the morrow. But she couldn't afford that luxury, not while her brothers slumbered dead or soon-to-be on cold grounds soaked in blood. Time was of the essence.

"Dragonborn, would you have me take you to the Kynareth?" offered Mulnak, ever dutiful.

"No," she declined. "Vunthar, take Isha to the Temple. Ralof and Kottir, visit Kodlak White-Mane. Tell him I sent you, and tell him to start crafting arms and armor for our men. The rest of you, go to the tavern and regain your strength."

They did as bade.

Heimskr's sermon was as obnoxious and ear-grating as ever. "Mulnak," Thorunn said, calling the Orc's attention. "Take me to the Shrine of Talos." Her men could not wait, but neither could her God.

Mulnak followed her directions, setting her down gently before the Shrine. Her legs were cramped and her wounds were sore, but she refused to do more than wince at the pain. She knelt and entwined her shaking fingers in prayer.

"Hail Talos," she mumbled, "wise warrior, Hero-God of Man, come sit at my fire. Tell me your war stories, the battles your sword hones; you who chooses the slain, look on my deeds and when the time comes to retire to Sovngarde with you, let my end be worthy of song. In the meantime, let me feel excitement and poetry and fury and joy, let me understand sacrifice, think long, remember well, and journey far. Let me see this war's end. Let my child walk a world that does not work against them. Let my brothers live to see this world they fight for." The Shrine was beginning to fester, the most comforting of chimes lofting from its stone, the most beautiful of blue streams of magic weaving its way around the crevices. "Talos, witness this."

The trickles of magic loomed over to her, wrapping her in invisible arms and filling the emptiness within the pit of her gullet. Her voice felt stronger. Her _Voice_ felt stronger, and her bones, and her wounds became tolerable. For a moment, nothing existed apart from her and this boundless connection. It was as if Talos Himself lent her his Voice.

And she knew just what to do with it. Her eyes opened and the link faded into a hum at the back of her heart. With a renewal of courage, she placed the palms of her hands onto the altar and hoisted herself to her feet. She was unsteady and the wound in her thigh burned in protest, but she waved away Mulnak's offer to help. She would not approach a Jarl being carried like some hapless damsel. She could do this. _I can do this._

Careful not to put much weight on her bad leg, she began limping her way to the stairs, slow and steady. With each step, it felt like the wound was splitting open all over again, but when she looked down, the bandages were as stable as they'd been before she started walking. With that in mind, she refused to worry about something that wasn't there. Illusions would slow her down.

The staircases were problematic. She had to use the pillars for support, but those were sooner acceptable than a helping hand. Midway, her wounds started to become accustomed to the pain of pressure. She winced and took her hand away from the pillars. _Six more steps,_ she told herself as she limped her ascension. Mulnak was following. She could hear his footsteps behind her and feel his stare boring into the back of her head.

 _Three more steps._ On the last, she stumbled and began to fall, but caught her balance just before her palms scraped the pavement. She took that last step with all the strength she could muster. Now all that remained was a flat bridge to cross. It was easy in theory.

But she'd proved her point, so she allowed herself to use the railings of the bridge for support. Beneath was a charming pond filled with fish that nibbled on your toes if you stuck your feet in the water. That had been one of Thorunn's favorite pastimes, back when she was allowed to have such a thing. Gaping, the guards opened the doors to the palace at her slow approach.

Jarl Vignar Gray-Mane was cut short of his conversation when those doors opened. He cut himself off mid-shout, dark eyes turning sharply to the intruder. He was an old man, with a hair and beard true to his surname. Wispy gray hair hung past his shoulders, pinned back with Nordic braids, and a scraggly beard hung to his chest. Wrinkles wrought his wizened features and his build was a lanky one dressed in patterned orange velvets and leather brown boots. A circlet rested atop his head, gold with red rubies in its arches. A ring of some gemstone or another was on every finger and an Amulet of Talos swayed at his chest when he leaned forward for a better look at his visitors.

He'd certainly made use of his coin, Thorunn noted duly. She'd hoped he'd invest in more benefits for Whiterun rather than his own prettiness. Another mistake of the Stormcloaks, making this man Jarl in place of Balgruuf. He'd been a tempered man, but a good one nonetheless. Thorunn didn't smile when she forced him to kneel.

"Thorunn!" Vignar barked cheerfully, chapped lips splitting into a toothy grin. A couple of his teeth were gold-capped while others were missing entirely. "How wonderful it is to see you. I hear you're making waves out there. High Queen, eh?"

She'd limped her way to the foot of the throne. She sent a nod to Malnuk, who hurried to grab her a chair to sit in. She all but collapsed into it the moment it was within reach, sighing with relief as the pressure on her wounds relaxed. "High Queen," she confirmed, the words little more than a gust of breath. "But I'm not here for pleasantries."

"Pah, of course not," Vignar said as if he'd expected as such. "Nobody high-and-mighty ever stops by for a simple hello. What is it, then? Oh, but first, you should know that the Battle-Borns refused to fight. And so I kicked them out of the city. I suspect they're begging around in Riften by now, yelling about their lost glory." He laughed wickedly. "I'm sorry to say I only got a few years left in me to relish in this."

She hadn't expected anything less, if she were being honest. They couldn't lose something they hadn't even gained, so she didn't weep for Battle-Born absence. "Fine, but I'm not here for that either," she said evenly. "Surely you've heard by now that the Dominion is attacking Skyrim."

"Oh, right. That." The Jarl's cheerful demeaner soured. He sighed. "You were in that manslaughter at Markarth, weren't you?"

"Correct."

"Let me guess, you need men? Weapons? Armor? Coin?"

"All of the above."

"Naturally." He sighed again, eyes narrowed calculatingly as he rubbed his bearded chin.

"We can spare weapons and armor, but coin and men are much too sparse," said Brill, Vignar's steward. He was a man eager to help whose favorite thing in the world was to see Vignar smile at his expense. "Our coin has... well..."

"Been spent on those lovely jewels Vignar's sporting?" Thorunn supplied.

Brill looked away, cheeks flushed, while Vignar laughed. "Let me enjoy my small luxuries, woman. As for the men, our guards are spread thin as it is. Why don't you take some of the Companions?"

"I plan to, but it won't be enough. We'll be lucky to find even one Stormcloak standing in that field of corpses."

"Then why bother going back at all?" the Jarl questioned.

"Hope."

He sobered. "Now there's a real jewel," he said, almost a mumble. "Hope." His smile was free of snark when it rose this time. "Well... you can take your pick of the prisoners. Some of 'em are real strong, strong enough to take one of those damned elves down with their bare hands. Go through the belongings chests to find some armor to fit them into. Best not to hand them a weapon until they got something you _want_ them to slash at, though." The snark reappeared in his grin.

Thorunn decided she'd rather pass on that notion. "I'll consider it," she told him anyway. She knew she wouldn't get much else out of this shrewd old man. "And the arms and armor?" They at least needed enough to replace their band's rags. Her own armor was dented and on the brink of shattering, and her sword and shield were doing no better. It would not do.

"I'll do what I can. Take a look around the armory. Might find something you like." She did just that, taking her pick from what little the armory offered. It was mostly guard armor and weapons, which weren't ideal for a full-scale battle, but she worked with what she had. She found nothing that would fit Mulnak's broad chest, though he declined anyway, stating that armor just gets in his way and weighs him down. She fitted herself into steel, and packed a chest with variously colored guard armors. It would have to suffice.

Mulnak carried the chest while they made their slow descent down the staircases from the Jarl's palace. Once they reached the bottom, she directed him to go take a look at the prisoners and see if any would be worth the risk of their freedom. She instructed the nearest guard to take the chest to the tavern for Thongvor and the others to work with, and then she started towards Jorrvaskr.

By this time, it was night. Torch sconces lit the paths and shopkeepers began locking their doors. When Thorunn entered Jorrvaskr, its usual raucousness was absent. But the people she needed were seated around the fire, mugs of mead in hand and idle chatter on their lips. Their heads rose when she entered.

"Thorunn," said Aela, her chair scraping against the floor as she stood abruptly. "You're in bad condition. What brings you here? We heard of the Dominion attacks."

"And of the pregnancy," added Vilkas, critically eyeing the bandages wrapped around her midsection.

"Don't say that with such contempt, brother," Farkas chided, shoving his brother's shoulder playfully. "We're going to be uncles."

Thorunn waved them off. "I need your help," she said impatiently. "The Dominion slaughtered us in the Reach. I don't know if any Stormcloaks yet live, but I plan to retrieve them if they are. I was hoping the Circle could give me an edge."

Farkas' smile dropped, and Vilkas' glare became severe. Aela was the only one who remained passive. "Are you asking us to-" she began, but was cut off.

"We are _not_ going to use our curse for war," Vilkas growled. "And anyhow we don't have total control when we transform. We could just as easily kill _you_ as the elves."

"I'm aware," Thorunn snapped. "Which is why I don't plan to be in range when you transform." She knew Aela would follow if nothing else. Farkas would only follow if Vilkas did, and Vilkas was as stubborn as an ox.

"It's wrong," Vilkas retorted. "Kodlak dreamed of a Circle free from this bane. He would be disgusted if you suggested we use it to fight wars we should have no part in."

"Don't presume to know what Kodlak would have wanted," Aela snarled, her eyes narrowed.

"Enough!" Thorunn barked. "I don't expect you to do this out of the kindness of your heart. We cured Kodlak of the curse with a Glenmoril witch head. I will do the same for you and Farkas, if you use this curse one last time to save lives." It wouldn't be easy going back to the witches' cave and claiming the rest of their heads, but where there was a will, there was a way.

That gave Vilkas pause. He looked into the fire as if it held answers, thoughtful.

"I think we should do it," Farkas said quietly. "We win back Skyrim's freedom and put an end to our restless nights and aching bones. It's a fair trade."

"Fine." Vilkas gritted his teeth and stood. "We're with you, Harbinger."


	33. The Love She Wrought

Only two prisoners were suitable enough for their purposes, according to Mulnak's judgement. They were both female, one a Khajiit named Dra'hana and the other a Dunmer named Volediri. Dra'hana was slim in figure with scraggly chestnut fur and expressive brown eyes. She had entered Whiterun without leave, which was a crime due to the tendency of her kind to be thieves. Not to say that that crime was justified, of course. Skyrim had no shortage of superstition and racism. Volediri was short and curvaceous, a stature not commonly associated with her people, and her long black hair hung in dreads decorated with red beads that clanked quietly whenever she moved. She was a cutpurse who'd assaulted a guard when caught. There was no honor in her crimes, but it was more humane than most of the other prisoners they had to choose from.

Thorunn couldn't fight with her wounds, so she spared a couple moments for the Kynareth priests. They healed her to the best of their abilities with the short amount of time she gave them. By the time they finished, she could walk relatively straight and the pain was dulled to a tolerable throb. Black spots still coated the vision of her injured eye, but they told her a scar wouldn't linger too prominently. She wasn't worried about physical appearance as much as she was worried about her eyesight.

She wasn't at her best, but it would have to suffice. Isha was restored to full health, able to walk without assistance and more than eager to sink her arrows into more Altmer. She'd thanked Vunthar repeatedly for carrying her and vowed to repay him, to which he shrugged off and muttered, "Just doing my job." Thorunn noted with a sly smirk that his cheeks were flushed.

They were on the road again within the hour, traveling by moonlight and torches. In total, there were thirteen of them. Not an ideal total to take on an army, but Thorunn's hope was that the wolf-blooded would make up for it. Would that she could transform herself.

As for their newcomers: Where Volediri was quiet and observant, Dra'hana liked to comment on just about every strand of discolored grass. "Dra'hana knows this flower," she'd say, followed by what uses the flower offered. Dra'hana knew this tree, and that butterfly, and this farm. Dra'hana knew the stars and the crypts, as well as the wolves and the sabertooth tigers (they kept their distance, but even so, the large cat allowed them to pass without so much as a sniff, which Thorunn thought was peculiar).

Dra'hana reminded her wistfully of Tinsley, a talkative and energetic man who'd died while under Thorunn's command at the behest of Altair, who had then been nobody. This time, Thorunn tried to appreciate Dra'hana filling the silence. Mulnak even commented or asked the khajiit questions sometimes of the things she knew, which Dra'hana was absolutely delighted by. The two were fast friends.

Volediri hadn't said a word since her introduction. There was a quiet intensity to her that made Thorunn wary. The rest of their company was no less than their usual. Vilkas and Farkas bickered while Aela fought to quiet them; Thongvor and Kottir talked war strategy and the strengths of weaknesses of different crafting material; Vunthar and Isha chatted amiably while the Nordic woman Thorunn had yet to place a name to occasionally joined in.

"Been a long time, eh?" said Ralof quietly as they walked on tired legs.

"Too long," Thorunn responded. She kept her eyes on the road. "What have you been up to all this time?"

He smiled. "I was part of the background noise during the war against the Imperials. Ulfric gave me a unit of my own and promoted me to Snow-Hammer. My boys and I took down a lot of forts that made all the difference in your larger scale battles."

"You have my thanks."

He bowed his head modestly. "But the war wasn't all." He tugged at the gauntlet on his hand and held up his fingers, revealing a simple gold band around his middle. "Married a girl from Winterhold. Cold as snow and fierce as fire, the best woman in the world."

Thorunn smiled. "I don't remember receiving an invitation to the wedding."

"We didn't have one." Disappointment twinged with sadness laced his tone. "Things were too chaotic with the war and the dragons. We said our vows while covered in blood and on our last breaths." He chuckled fondly at the memory.

Thorunn thought she would have liked a wedding of the same make. Unfortunately, that wasn't allowed for kings and queens. "That sounds charming."

"You have a wedding of your own on the way, I hear."

"You hear correctly, though it's consistently delayed by one mishap or another." Much to her annoyance.

"Damn the war," Ralof said. "Our loved ones are who we're fighting for. Lives are hard and short these days. I say you should just say to hell with it and marry him on the spot."

"If only it were that easy." She smiled faintly. "I'm of a mind with you, Ralof, but now isn't the time for my life to adjoin with Ulfric's under Mara's gaze." She had a hard time coming up with a reason why, however.

"Well, when he comes to his senses, I'll be expecting an invitation." He smiled playfully, which Thorunn returned.

Their travel wore on. Multiple times the others suggested they stop for a rest, but Thorunn insisted that enough time had been wasted already. By morning, when the sun was just peeking over the edges of the horizon in orange and pink hues, they neared the Reach.

The smell was the first thing that hit Thorunn. Death, followed by burning flesh. With the smell came sight, and that was when Thorunn saw the stacks of bodies being took to the torch. Some were robust and dressed in blue garb while others were slim and armored in gilded breastplates. The blue ones outnumbered the gold by far. The wide open field was eerily silent, unaccountable for even the chirping of birds or the breathing of Thorunn's companions. All that remained was the crackling of fire and the desolate battlefield before them.

Holding her breath and fighting against a knot welling up in her throat, she slowly started moving forward, scanning her eyes over each face she passed. She feared the next would be one of her friends.

A soft whimpering sound reached her ears. Thorunn sharply turned her head towards the noise. Her eyes widened. "Eriswe," she breathed, hurrying over to the girl.

The Altmer sat crouched on the ground, rocking herself back and forth and covering her ears with her hands. A dagger lay next to her, coated in blood much like Eriswe's hands. Before her was a Dominion soldier with a sloppy cut circling his neck and blood seeping from its jagged slits.

Thorunn knelt before her. "Eriswe," she repeated, reaching out to the girl.

Abruptly, the girl collapsed and threw herself into Thorunn's arms, sobbing against her chest and clutching her tightly. Thorunn didn't know what to do, so she patted her back awkwardly and held her while she cried herself dry. Thorunn presumed that the corpse bleeding out before them had been Eriswe's first kill. The first kill was always the worst. Thorunn still remembered her own vividly.

She'd been fifteen and her parents were off fighting in the Great War, leaving their only living child to her own devices. As a result, Thorunn had been a rambunctious girl with little to no discipline. She cut a boy's finger off at seven because he'd called her a meathead, and assaulted a guard for taunting her with food she couldn't afford. These instances were only brushing the surface of all her girlhood wrongdoings. Nan did what she could to tame Thorunn's spirit, but it'd been too late.

It was shortly after the signing of the White-Gold Concordat and henceforth her parents' deaths. Thalmor agents were running rampant in Skyrim, rooting out Talos worship and being as aggressive as they willed in the process. When they came to Falkreath, residents began squabbling to hide their Amulets of Talos and erase any trace of Him in their homes. The Jarl (who'd been Dengeir at the time; he'd had no good standing with the Imperials like his nephew) had even issued a decree, stating that the Thalmor was on their way and it's well advised to retire the evidence.

Not Thorunn. She wore her Amulet of Talos above her tunic for all to see, damned the consequences. When the Thalmor arrived, she didn't shy away from their ire and cower away in her home like the rest of Falkreath. The Thalmor remained in Falkreath for the proceeding month- one by one, residents started disappearing. Old Faregun was taken on the first day for a shrine to Talos being in his home. Gretika was taken on the second day for speaking out against Thalmor supremacy. Then Mavegarte, Savul, Haglmer, Urfred, Hursten, Elssine. By chance of fate, Thorunn's amulet went unseen for weeks.

Instead of banking on that invisibility and letting herself go unnoticed, she grew impatient and began egging the Thalmor on. She'd call them names when they passed, she'd spit at their feet, pickpocket their coin. They'd laugh at her, which made her even more angry. Looking back on it, she was certain someone had been looking out for her and paying the Thalmor off so they'd ignore her. But they didn't ignore the amulet when they laid eyes on it.

It'd been only one elf that first discovered it. He was lounging in the tavern while Thorunn swept floors for Valga Vinicia. She recalled his exact words had been, "Bring that tray of wine over to me, girl, and hope it tastes better than the piss you people usually pass as drink." Scowling, Thorunn did as bade. When she leaned over to place the tray on his table, that was when he saw the amulet.

His first move? To hit her. Thorunn had been keeping a dagger on her ever since she was old enough to hold one, and that coupled with the respite that was building up over the weeks led to her pulling it on him. One swift moment later, he was on the ground choking on his last life essence, a dagger sticking from the slit in his throat.

The difference between Thorunn's first kill and Eriswe's first kill was that Thorunn didn't shed a tear. She didn't look away, either, or feel any sort of remorse. This elf had contributed in taking away her friends, he'd taunted her for weeks, insulted Skyrim like it was the only sort of talk he could spill, and he'd tried to assault her. And now, thirteen years later, Thorunn only wished she'd made his death hurt more.

Consequences followed that kill, but Dengeir was quick to sooth the Thalmor's wrath. He paid them all he had and made Thorunn sit in the cells for two months. She thought it was worth it.

"Eriswe," she said gently. "Eriswe. Do you know what happened to the others? Altair, Rayya, Kemaan?"

The elf sniffled and shifted in Thorunn's arms. Wordlessly, she fumbled at the pocket of her skirts, pulling out a roll of parchment with trembling fingers. She covered her mouth with her hand to stifle a sob as she handed the scroll to Thorunn. The seal bore the gold eagle of the Aldmeri Dominion.

Eriswe scooted away from Thorunn as she unrolled the parchment, holding her breath. She read it aloud.

 _A message to Thongvor Silver-Blood:_

 _It occurs to us you have one of our turncloaks in your custody. That is all fine and well; we are more than happy to donate our kind to the less fortunate. Even so, we lay respect to the superior race, henceforth it falls unto her to deliver this letter._

 _Your son is in our captivity. Bend the knee, swear your men to our service, and he may yet live. If you refuse, the blood of him and many others will flow through this city thicker than the silver its renowned for. If you accept, approach the city alone, unarmed, and give your name to the guards. You have half a moon to decide._

 _Act wisely._

 _General Arelon Highlock_

Thorunn slowly lowered the letter, her knuckles white with their grip.

"Cursed elves," Thongvor swore through gritted teeth. "What am I to do with this?"

That was a good question. Thorunn cared for Altair, perhaps even loved him, but was he worth nearly half of Skyrim? If Thongvor bent the knee, Ulfric would brand him a traitor and undoubtedly execute him at first light. Thongvor's life was in his own hands, however, and it was up to him to decide whether it was worth the life of his son's.

Thorunn's eyes ran back to 'half a moon.' That gave them two weeks; enough time to trek back to Solitude for Ulfric's counsel and back again if they were swift. That would be a waste of time, Thorunn thought. He'd certainly be angry if they made weighty decisions regarding the fate of one of his regions, but he would understand given time.

A part of Thorunn already knew what the right choice was, no matter how much love she bore for Altair. She closed her eyes. _Breathe,_ she told herself.

She opened them. "Markarth is too valuable to yield in exchange for one life," she said, hating every word that came from her mouth. She stood, her unsteady balance not from her weak leg. "If the Reach falls, the rest of Skyrim will follow. We will not bend."


	34. The Queen That Vowed

"Do you know this general?" Thorunn asked their Altmeri companion. They were on their way to Rorikstead, the nearest non-hostile settlement and one of their few choices for refuge. Thorunn's tone had adopted a new edge to it, something sullen and listless. She'd practically signed Altair to his death. There was no joy to be found in their circumstances.

Eriswe shook her head. Her waist-length golden locks were tangled and could have stood a wash, and her cheeks were tear-stained and dirty. Even in this state, the girl's beauty shone through, from the prominent cheekbones to the arched nose and large yellow eyes. "Not personally," she said quietly. Her voice had worn itself out from crying. "I... I heard about him, though. He is calculated and thinks before every move. If you wish to undermine him, it will take strategy."

"I didn't particularly plan to just storm the gates." _As much as I'd like to._

She'd sent Brugi and Hulgi (as she'd learned) to Solitude to deliver word to Ulfric. Undoubtedly, Markarth's fall had already spread to the edges of Skyrim and beyond, but Ulfric needed to know that some of his army yet live. More importantly, his betrothed and child yet lived. At the rate they were going, she didn't know if it'd still be that way much longer.

Thongvor had been brooding throughout the entire trip. She knew he wouldn't yield as quietly as he had and it was only a matter of time before what was happening sunk in. That moment came about a half hour into the trip. "I can't just leave my son and people to die," he said, halting.

"We won't be," Thorunn reminded him. She didn't know where they were going to go for more men if Ulfric didn't dispatch more to them, but they weren't giving up just yet.

"The Dominion will be able to kill my son and half the city before we ever reach them."

"Perhaps."

"Altair could be dead _now._ Every person in that city save for the elves could be dead. This could be a trap, or... or a ploy..."

"Perhaps."

Thongvor's expression became indignant as he narrowed his eyes. "This isn't something to be passive over!"

"We've already been over this, Thongvor," Thorunn sighed impatiently. "Word to Ulfric is being delivered. Our hands are tied until he chooses to send us more men. I was prepared to fight on the field in order to save our brothers, but there's no way we'll be able to take the city back with what we have. We're Nords, not fools."

He went back to skulking.

Farkas and Vilkas were growing restless. They'd agreed to fight on the field, not take a city back, but if they were made aware of this, they didn't voice their concern, so Thorunn didn't weigh too heavily on it. She did wonder if she could cure herself of the curse, but she didn't know if she quite wanted to. Where Skjor and Aela had been vocal on deeming it a gift and Farkas and Vilkas vocal on deeming it a curse, Thorunn had been indifferent. She supposed she was fearful of what her heart may think. Brand the wolf-blood a curse and be overtaken with the longing to be rid of it. Brand it a gift and risk forsaking her right to Sovngarde.

Rorikstead was a small homely village. A giant's camp wasn't far, and Thorunn had frequently rescued cows and sheep for the farmers back when she was taking the fight to Alduin. There wasn't an abundance of guards, but enough to hold off against petty crime and savages. Thorunn was reminded of the horse-thief Lokir who'd been seated on the captive's carriage alongside herself so many years ago. She wondered if Lokir had a wife or husband here, or children. Like as not, otherwise he wouldn't have been crossing the border without them.

She caught sight of a familiar silvery-colored stallion being herded by a farmer. Aegetha whinnied and shook his head, refusing to be taken by the farmer. Thorunn's expression brightened and she hurried over, yanking the reins from the farmer's hold.

"This your horse?" he said, letting the reins go without a fight.

Thorunn nodded, running a soothing hand over the side of Aegetha's snout.

"Good and healthy steed," he complimented. "Saw him wondering about a bit west to here. He looked lost and hungry, so I fought with him all the way back here. He won't take the damned thing from me, but here, feed him this." The farmer tossed her a red apple.

"Thank you," Thorunn said graciously, raising the apple to Aegetha's wide lips. The horse sniffed, then took it whole.

The farmer ran his eyes over Thorunn and her party. He looked like he'd seen stranger things than this. "You lot from that battle west of here?"

She nodded.

His eyes went wide and he leaned in to make sure he wasn't overheard. Thorunn almost took a step back, inconvenienced by his intrusion of her personal space, but he paid no mind to the motion. "A unit of Thalmor agents rode through here just yesterday," he said, voice just shy of a whisper. "They spoke of going for Whiterun."

"Over my dead body," Aela seethed.

The farmer's hazel eyes were wide and ominous as he leaned back. "How many?" Thorunn inquired.

"I can't count very well, but I estimate six," he answered.

"Then they're scouting, looking for a weak point." She was surprised they didn't linger in Rorikstead, given that the village was part of Whiterun Hold. It came to her then that perhaps they didn't _all_ go to Whiterun. "And still, there is nothing we can do as of yet." She reached in her pocket and pulled out a coinpurse. She dumped a small handful of gold into the palm of her hand, then passed it to the farmer. "Thank you for telling us this."

He bulked at the gold. "No, thank you," he breathed. "Thank you. This is... this is enough gold to feed my family for a month. Thank you. Anything you need, anything, I'm here to serve."

Thorunn mercifully decided not to let him know that he'd be serving her whether she paid him or not. "Is there anything else you know?" she asked as she pocketed her coin purse.

"No, sir, nothing. There's apples in the basket on my porch if you're hungry. Or your horse. Or your friends."

Thorunn nodded. "We'll be on our way, then." Holding Aegetha's reins, she turned back to the road and began descending.

"What's the plan?" asked Thongvor.

"We're going to take out those scouts," Thorunn said, not turning to face him. "But first, we need to rest. A night, no more, for recuperation." She tied Aegetha to a post outside Frostfruit Inn, then entered and used more than half of her coin to pay for rooms. They had to bunk- Isha and Dra'hana and Volediri, Vunthar and Malnuk, Farkas and Vilkas, Thongvor and Vunthar and Ralof, and Thorunn with Aela and Eriswe.

Dinner was sweet and hot. Bacon-wrapped trout with blueberry tarts, sweetrolls and seasoned cabbage, with honeyed mead and salted water to wet their parched throats. Mralki was nothing but smiles and pleasantries, eager to give them anything they asked for. Thorunn thought that had little to do with the kindness of his heart and everything to do with the coin they put in his pocket. Even so, she was grateful, and better yet, there were no signs of Thalmor within the village.

There were three people and two beds in her room. In the end, Eriswe got her own bed while Thorunn and Aela squeezed onto the other one. An injustice, considering Thorunn was nearing six feet tall and her stomach steadily growing with child, and Aela was only a few inches shorter and wide-hipped. They'd flipped coins to decide who got the single bed. Thorunn regretted just ordering them to the other one.

When she woke, she was aching all over and her wounds felt like they'd been salted. She replaced the bandages first thing, then donned her armor and left her room behind. Being the blood of the wolf, she never felt like she'd had enough sleep. Rest was a liability more than anything. Aela and Eriswe were already having breakfast with the rest of their party when Thorunn joined. It appeared Farkas and Mulnak were the only two left sleeping.

When Thorunn went to wake Farkas, she was intrusive: She whacked him in the face with a pillow, sat on his shoulder and bounced, forcibly rolled him over thrice, then finally resorted to tossing a cup of cold water on his face. Waking Farkas was like telling a stone wall to get out of the way. He spluttered and sat upright, crying out in dismay.

"I'm up!" he grumbled, rubbing his eyes.

Thorunn smiled passive aggressively. Waking Mulnak was much easier. His eyes were open the moment she opened the door, and she was grateful for his sharp mind. Light sleepers were invaluable when it came to being soldiers. "We're leaving within the next hour," she told him, then closed the door again to give him his privacy. It was a good thing she didn't value modesty, else she would have been disturbed to find out he slept naked save for his blue warpaint.

Instead of eating, Thorunn elected for a bath. Using the soaps and tub that Mralki provided, she scrubbed relentlessly at all the dirt and blood and grime coating her body. Her skin was sunburned in some places and tanned in others. Scars were a regular part of her skin, so she paid them no mind and scrubbed at them like every other part. She was careful with her wounds, hissing when they touched the hot water and sighing in relief once they adjusted and relaxed. It felt good to cleanse them.

She braided her platinum blonde hair in traditional Nordic fashion. It was in dire need of a cut, nearly reaching her waist, but she couldn't spend time on that now. Tired brown eyes looked back at her in the mirror she stood before. She wondered if they'd ever regain the brightness they'd harbored when she was a girl, still untouched by war and loss.

That was too much to ask for. When she was fully dressed and finished, and the others were done with breakfast, they took to the road again with Thorunn mounting Aegetha. In the word they sent with Brugi and Hulgi, they said their location was indefinite in Whiterun Hold. Luckily, Ulfric could just as easily send a raven to the Jarl, which would then be passed to Thorunn via courier. It was risky passing letters around like that with the Thalmor running amok, but they didn't have much choice. Nords had never been good at secrecy and stealth, anyway.

Spirits were higher when they traveled this time. There were less annoyed sighs to be heard whenever Dra'hana started rambling, and they didn't ask to rest every half hour.

"Dra'hana mislikes this city of superstition," scowled the khajiit as the walls of Whiterun came into view. "I cannot enter, lest I would see myself in chains again. I will not."

"You don't have to enter," Thorunn assured her, slowing Aegetha to a halt and scanning her eyes over the perimeter. "Being a Stormcloak would grant you immunity to laws forbidding you from the city, though."

"Dra'hana would not enter even with allowance," she insisted. "My name, _'Dra'',_ it means wisdom and wit. Wisdom denotes not to play with fire, as it leads to burns. Whiterun has walls of flame for the Khajiit."

She wasn't wrong. Khajiit were not looked on kindly throughout Skyrim. The Nords presumed they were all thieves and cutpurses. Cities had laws forbidding them from taking up residence. Thorunn would like to see that changed when she became High Queen. "Spread out," she ordered her men. "Blow your horn at the first sight of Thalmor. If they run, don't bother to chase them."

They did as bade, dispersing into opposite directions. Thorunn led Aegetha into a calculated stroll. If Altmer were lurking about, no doubt they wouldn't be easy to find. Thorunn didn't put invisibility potions past them. She'd always been wary of mages and alchemists. Tricky businesses, they played, almost moreso than rogues. Minutes passed uneventful and without sight of anything unusual.

Thorunn was becoming dubious when the first horn sounded. It came from the east and she reeled her horse to follow it when another horn sounded from the west. Then another from the north, and another from south. Southeast, southwest. Aegetha spun awkwardly. When he halted, Thorunn came face to face with three Altmer of her own.

"Shit," she hissed. She quickly did her calculations. The one in the middle was tall and muscular, wielding an elven shield and glass axe. He was the vanguard, she knew, and would be the hardest to take down. To his left was another man, slender in form with an arrow notched and pointed directly between her eyes. She'd worry about how she was going to safely dodge that in a moment. To the right of the vanguard was a robust female with frost magic swirling around her palms. _At least it's frost and nothing else,_ Thorunn thought. Her natural resistance to it would be invaluable.

"Lay down your weapons and come quietly. No harm will come unto you henceforth," the vanguard declared.

Thorunn's eyes passed between the three Altmer. All held scornful glares. The air reeked of their superiority complexes. Thorunn knew that if she reached for her sword, the archer would loose that arrow and the mage would loose that ice spike, while the warrior rushed forward to hinder her steed. Clenching her jaw, she held her hands up in surrender and waited for the vanguard's nod of approval before carefully descending from Aegetha's saddle. The stallion whinnied and confusion and bucked his head. Thorunn didn't reach out to comfort him, suspecting that the Altmer would mistake the motion for drawing a weapon.

"Your weapons," prompted the warrior.

"I was getting to it," Thorunn snapped. She unsheathed her sword and dirk, tossing them to the ground, then unclasped her shield and added that to the pile. A dagger remained at her thigh beneath the loincloth that draped from her codpiece, but she wasn't removing anything the Altmer couldn't see. With the way they saw things, they probably assumed Nords were too stupid to have more than what the eye could perceive.

The warrior elf approached and snatched the weapons from the ground. He was lucky Thorunn didn't kick him in the face while he was down there. He threw the weapons out of her reach, then grabbed her by the wrists and started to tie a knot of rope around them. "What is your name?" he asked as he worked.

"Fridevi," she lied. Telling them she was the future High Queen would be bad for her health.

"Nordic names are so ugly," commented the archer. He began lowering his bow as he grew more comfortable. "What do your mothers do? Cough until something that sounds like a name comes out?" His buddies laughed.

"My mother named me after the Queen That Vowed," she said. It wasn't a lie, this time, only the Queen That Vowed's name had been Thorunn, not Fridevi. The elves wouldn't know that. They never bothered to learn about the places they sacked. "The second Aldmeri Dominion had killed her husband and children and family. The only thing they left her was her crown. With it, she vowed vengeance, and more than half of Skyrim was there to see it. It's said they heard her weeping through the towers even long after she died."

The archer scoffed. "Typical. You Nords have a habit of making vows you cannot keep." She suspected he was alluding to the White-Gold Concordat the Stormcloaks had recently decided to ignore.

"I never said she didn't keep the vow." Thorunn grinned. The Queen That Vowed had led her armies against the Dominion alongside Tiber Septim himself. She had her family's murderers captured instead of killed, then one by one, she mounted their heads outside the gates. They withstood various tortures beforehand, of course. Death had been a mercy in hindsight.

And it'd be a mercy to these fools. Thorunn reeled and thumped her head into the vanguard's as hard as she could. Stars shone for a moment, but she was moving before she even recovered. With raw strength, she pulled her wrists apart, apart, apart, until her binds shattered. She snarled viciously, senses starting to go red.

The vanguard recovered and started to level his shield with her, but she had already gotten out of his reach. She'd torn the throat from the mage and bitten two fingers off of the archer's bow hand. Aegetha shrieked and padded away at full speed. Among that chaos came the confused shouting of the Altmer. "What _is_ that?!" one called, while the other yelped and whirled about in pain at the loss of his fingers.

She picked up her discarded sword and plunged it through the archer's gut, then danced with the vanguard for several moments, biding her time. She hadn't consumed any flesh, though she had bitten it. The wolf's blood was already starting to subside. With one last haul of strength, she thwacked the Altmer's sword from his grasp and ended it by thrusting her sword hilt-deep into his gut. His blood painted the iron red. His feet lifted from the ground as he incoherently spluttered his last breaths away.

Thorunn pulled her sword free and his body fell to the ground, as dead as his brothers. She stood and heaved heavily for a couple moments while the last of the wolf faded away into the pit of her gut, back to lying in wait for its next chance to resurface.

Breathing hard, she started moving to look for the others, crimson blood dripping from the tip of her sword.


	35. His All

Ulfric found his first gray hair that morning. Thorunn had been the one to cut and style it, so it had grown a few inches past his shoulders and was looking less than tidy. He wouldn't let his servants touch it even if there was time to donate to such frivolities. Even putting something on other than his bedclothes had become a chore.

Stress was eating away at him. Still no word came from Thorunn and his army. Winterhold was in dire need of crops, Windhelm's Dark Elves had finally had enough of segregation and were erupting a new realm of Oblivion for the guards, Riften's Thieves Guild was making a comeback, and Markarth was lost. The Dominion was spreading and Solitude was weakened due to Ulfric sending most of everyone to battle in the Reach.

Two weeks had passed since he'd seen Thorunn. He wondered if her stomach had grown any, if she yet breathed. On the third day, he caved and sent four scouts forth, but they had yet to return. _And they probably won't_.

For Winterhold, he tasked Whiterun and Ivarstead with transporting crops. For Windhelm, he could do nothing but send a letter vowing that he would return soon and restore order. It wouldn't be long before they were forced to go to Windhelm, with or without Ulfric's queen. He gave Riften full power to deal with the Thieves Guild however they see fit, and did nothing for Markarth as he sat in the dark regarding the circumstances.

He sat slouched in his throne, pinching the bridge of his nose, when a peculiar ebony-skinned bearded man approached the dais. He wore a tagelmust over his head and beaded red finery. Ulfric straightened up in his seat, his attention piqued. He hoped...

"I am Nazuin of the Alik'r," spoke the Redguard, hands clasped behind his back. His accent was almost so heavy Ulfric couldn't understand him. "With me I bring word from my leaders regarding your want for our help in the war you wage against the Aldmeri Dominion."

The king held his breath.

"Hammerfell has agreed to assist Skyrim on the condition that you assist us when the need arises. Assuredly, the Dominion is not finished with us. When the day comes where their unworthy feet grace sand, the mighty Alik'r will stand ready alongside the worthy Nords, yes?"

"Yes," Ulfric said without hesitation. Relief surged through him so thick he had to fight back hysterical laughter. "I accept your terms."

"King Amran and Queen Ahleen will be delighted to hear so," said Nazuin. "Her Grace will arrive with fifteen-thousand men, while His Grace remains in Hammerfell. Expect the might of the Redguards to arrive in three weeks time."

Three weeks was too long, but it was all they had. Ulfric nodded. He'd heard of the esteemed rulers of Hammerfell. They had three daughters together; Trevah, Rami, and Sulehana. Rumor had it that Queen Ahleen had the king in her pocket, and she was the real weight behind the throne. To boot, she was a renowned warrior, never having lost a tourney duel or battle. Ulfric was pleased that she was coming and not her husband. His reputation regarding warfare was sketchy at best. Better that he remain in his lane of politics.

At Ulfric's dismissal wave, Nazuin departed with a blessing from his Satakal and Onsi, his long red cape sweeping behind him. Ulfric had reiterated with a blessing from Talos.

"Sire, perhaps you shouldn't have so readily agreed to assist the Redguards," said Jorleif after the Redguard had left.

"And why not?"

"This war will leave us weakened and bloodied. It will take us centuries to recover wholly. There is no way we will be able to pledge fifteen-thousand men to the Redguards as they have done us. When they realize that, who knows what they will take from us as compensation?"

"Then I suppose we hope it takes the Dominion centuries to attack Hammerfell," Ulfric responded. Outwardly, he was all cool smiles and confidence. Inwardly...

Jorleif knew better than to argue when Ulfric became as strained as he was.

Deserters had been lining up over the past few weeks. Twenty-two men Ulfric had executed, some willing and some begging. Some of the prisoners he'd had to execute as well, for lack of space more than anything. The old Imperial he'd arrested at Vittoria Vici's wedding had died in her cell, but had she not, she would have been the first one Ulfric grabbed.

With death came whispering. He knew what people said of him and his decree, that he was losing control, unable to keep order, unfit to rule. People who said these things openly went to the block. In times of war, there was no room for doubt in the leadership, nor for borderline treason. Ulfric had no patience for these rumors. The people of Solitude quickly learned that.

"Majesty... perhaps... perhaps you are being too harsh..." Jorleif confessed one day, when it was past dinner and only the two of them remained.

Ulfric was pouring over letters, sifting through them quickly, occasionally signing his name before tossing it to the pile of other read letters. "Perhaps the people are being too harsh," he bit back. He pointedly straightened the three-page letter in his hands and tossed it to the pile with an unnecessary amount of force before moving onto the next.

"Undoubtedly," Jorleif agreed. He was nervous. Ulfric could smell it. "But it is a king's duty to understand. The people are frightened, sir. Their home was just ravaged and many of them lost loved ones during all the fighting. They need something to blame."

" _Then let it be the Dominion!_ " Ulfric barked, slamming a fist into the table as he stood up. His chair fell over with the force of his stand and Jorleif flinched. "Do you not see the weight I bear for these people? Are the burdens of the world not etched into my graying hair, the dark circles beneath my eyes, the slouch in my shoulders? I am giving my whole for their protection, and they give me treasonous whispers in return. I _will not_ have it."

Jorleif was stunned into silence, his mouth agape. He was leaning so far back into his chair that its legs tipped dangerously. "I... I am sorry."

"As you should be," Ulfric snapped. "I'll hear no more of 'too harsh.' If my best is too harsh, these people still won't deserve it." Regaining his composure, he picked the chair up and slid it back into place, sitting back down. He returned to his letters, but had a hard time focusing.

After a while of silence, Ulfric grew restless and decided sleep was his best bet. As of late, sleeping off his temper had been his only hope. Come morning, he woke feeling as if he hadn't slept at all. He went through his same, lonely routine of forcing himself to dress presentably and brush his hair. He had headaches so often he forgot what it was like to not feel pain.

He wasn't even surprised when two soldiers were waiting for him in the throne room, both Nordic and both looking worse for wear. Ulfric took his time on his way to the throne. He sat, got comfortable, and gave the two Nords a wave of admittance.

"Your queen lives, Majesty," said the male. He wore College of Winterhold robes and a hood. A mage, by the looks of it, while his female counterpart wore blue hauberk and carried a two-handed sword.

Ulfric sighed with relief. If he hadn't been sitting, his knees would have gave out on him. "She lives," he repeated, "but is she well?"

"She has... seen better days, perhaps. When we left, they were heading to Whiterun to take down some Thalmor scouts." The man started fidgeting nervously. "But before then, when we returned to the field to rescue any surviving Stormcloaks, one of the Aldmeri generals left a letter for the Jarl of Markarth - this general, Arelon Highlock, I recall, enclosed the letter with your queen's Altmeri handmaiden. They have Thongvor Silver-Blood's son in captivity. They want Thongvor's swear of fealty in exchange for the boy's life as well as Markarth's smallfolk's lives."

"Unacceptable," Ulfric declared. "A few civilian lives and the life of a murderous assassin is not worth an entire hold. What was Thorunn's decision?"

"The same as yours, sire."

The corners of Ulfric's mouth twitched into a faint smile. "Good." He remembered what Freya Gentry had said to him about Thongvor and Vikkesia, and the possibility of the two conspiring against Skyrim. "Do you recall how Thongvor reacted to this?"

The man looked surprised that Ulfric would ask that of all things. "I... He was quiet, sir. We were all very exhausted. Had we been well rested, I'm sure he would have been more vocal."

Ulfric hummed in acknowledgement. His eyes fell unto Freya herself, who was seated at a table to the left of the dais. She exchanged the slightest of nods, expression deliberately unchanged. "Thank you. Jorleif, give these two enough gold for a night at the Winking Skeever and a hefty dinner." The steward nodded and followed his orders.

Ulfric leaned back in his throne, running his index finger over his chin calculating as the two messengers took their leave and their gold. "Sir?" prompted Freya, standing up and approaching the foot of the dais.

He nodded. "Do it."


	36. Steel Whispers

Unnatural gold eyes stared back at her, fierce and angry on a field of scraggly brunette fur. The creature was crouched over a dead body, the fur on the back of its neck standing up in alarm and wariness. It couldn't decipher whether Thorunn was friend or foe. Her blade was bloodied, yet she had the scent of a wolf.

"Aela," Thorunn said gently. "It's me. Thorunn."

The werewolf cocked its head, huffing noisily. Thorunn's shoulders tensed as it started approaching her on two powerful hind legs. Its nostrils sniffed at her neck, her hand, then her midsection. Thorunn flinched and started backing away as the beast suddenly erupted into a long, drawn out howl. It pierced Thorunn's sensitive ears and simultaneously made her sad. She couldn't place why.

The beast began transforming right before her eyes. Mangled fur turned into skin, wolfish cries turned human and mundane, gold eyes recolored to blue. Eventually, all that was left a naked, human woman crouched on the ground.

Thorunn hurried over to one of the corpses and yanked off a cloak to wrap around her shoulders. Aela took it, clutching it around her as she got to her feet, still shaking from the transformation. Her expression was listless as she side-eyed Thorunn's stomach. "What is it?" she prodded.

"Your child is gifted," she answered. It was impossible to discern her own feelings towards the situation. "But it is..." Her brows furrowed as she struggled to convey. "...so strange. I am certain the wolf blood is the only thing that's protected it thus far, but... there's something else, too. Something unnatural."

Thorunn's concern was palpable. "What do you mean?" Her tone had gone cold. If something was wrong with her child...

Aela shook her head, confused. "It's impossible to tell. That wound in your side should have killed it, yet it lives. Wolf energy surrounds it, yes, but as I said, the wolf isn't the only thing. Perhaps it... has something to do with you being dragonborn."

Thorunn heard a guttural scream. "We'll talk about this later," she promised before taking off. The scream led her to Dra'hana, and the sound did not come from her, but the warrior she'd slain. There was nothing to fight when they arrived. Thorunn made a note of that and kept moving, her team slowly building.

Farkas and Vilkas were together and roaming when she found them. They'd already taken care of their group and two others; Volediri and Vunthar walked behind them. Thongvor was found next, mildly injured but alive, and then Mulnak, who treated the situation like it was child's play. To him, it probably was. Kottir came next in much the same circumstance as Mulnak. Isha was the only one they found still in battle, but she was nearing the end, impaling a soldier's throat with an arrow.

Their party swiftly dealt with the remainder of the Dominion soldiers. Thorunn wiped her blade off on her sleeve, then sheathed it. "That farmer really didn't know how to count," she commented, walking to gather Aegetha's reins.

"Harbinger," called Vilkas. Thorunn turned to face him. His dark hair, wet with sweat, hung over his eyes like black curtains. He raked his fingers through it, annoyed. "Does your promise withstand?"

"Aye," Thorunn confirmed, "but your job isn't over. One battle in exchange for a cure, that was the deal. That battle has yet to occur. You'll be ready when I call on you, I trust?"

Displeased, Vilkas nodded stiffly.

"Good. You, Farkas and Aela have leave to return to Whiterun until such time. As for the rest of you, we're heading back to Solitude."

Her hope- the last of it -was that the Redguards had come to a decision in the time Thorunn was gone. With their forces combined with the Nords, the Dominion stood no chance. And how was Ulfric faring, ruling as High King alone? Had he sought more allies? Sent scouts after them, or envoys to Markarth? This incessant unknowing annoyed her to no end. Once she returned to Solitude, she didn't plan to leave Ulfric's side for a long time.

They had to take the long route to Solitude to avoid stepping into the Reach. Taking the main road was too risky, so they stuck to mountain passes and alleyways. For most of the trip, they took the Pigeon's Nest Passage, named rightly after the innumerable amount of pigeons that passed overhead. The constant cawing was annoying, but some inconveniencing noises were preferable to another battle with the Dominion.

They passed through Whiterun Hold and Hjalmarch uneventfully, occasionally stopping to rest or pulling over at a tavern if there was one. The innkeepers of these taverns would give information in exchange for coin, and a couple of them claimed Dominion soldiers had passed through. One mercenary claimed he beat them bloody until they ran scrambling. Thorunn hoped that was true. Were these taverns in cities, the Thalmor wouldn't have dared enter them, knowing the guards would kill them before they ever got within reach. But these taverns were roadside and unprotected save for the choice mercenary or two.

Other rumors flitted through. Vampire attacks, sleepless nights in Dawnstar linked to a Daedric Prince, a man who killed children for his experiments in Morthal, a Mythic Dawn museum preparing for a grand opening, an alarming rise in thievery presumed to be the result of the Thieves Guild, cultists claiming Thorunn was a false Dragonborn. None of these concerned Thorunn half so much as the ones concerning Ulfric and his way of ruling. They said he was becoming restless and ruthless, executing anyone for even whispering an implication of not supporting him. Thorunn hoped for Ulfric's sake that that wasn't true.

There was so much on her mind that the travel was little more than a blur. She worried ceaselessly for Altair, hating every time she had to go to sleep not knowing if he lived or not. She worried for Odahviing, as well, and prayed unremittingly that this wasn't the foreshadowing of something bigger and world-threatening. She loved dragons as much as she loved her own self, and had had her fair share of killing them. She called for him again on the third day of traveling, and still he was absent.

More roads and passageways they ventured through. Through Pigmy Pass, the Priamn Road, the King's Track, the Rosebush Walk. Mountains, too, from the Calm Heights to the Whispering Peaks. Wolves were savage but smart enough not to go for food they had no hope of defeating, so they looked on in envy as Thorunn and her entourage passed. Dra'hana granted them immunity from the sabertooths, as well, but as for the skeevers and giant spiders, they were forced to contend with. Each time, they were put down swiftly, usually before Thorunn even had to draw her blade. They didn't run into any vampires or cultists, sadly, but they did exchange greetings with a few Vigilantes of Stendarr. They were very polite, Thorunn thought. She didn't tell them she happened to be a Daedra herself, with the wolf blood and all.

After a week's worth of travel, Solitude finally neared them. Strategically built on the banks of the Sea of Ghosts, Solitude was domineering and sturdy. The weather was always fair and its marketplace even fairer with all the goods and smiles it had to offer. An archway of stone arced across the road, and further down the gates stood, tall and barred with two stern guards on either side. A plethora of grasses and flowers rose up from the surroundings of the pathway.

When the guards caught sight of Thorunn and her party, they rushed to help. The one helped Thorunn from her horse while the other took a chest of luggage from Mulnak. Once she pushed through all their coddling, they made way to the Blue Palace, ignoring all the gapes they received from the passing by smallfolk. The doors to the palace opened at their advance.

Ulfric had been coming down the stairs to see what all the raucous was about when he saw her. His grip on the railing visibly tightened as if his knees might buckle beneath him. He looked rough, with overgrown hair and eyes red from lack of sleep. He looked thinner than he had when Thorunn left him, too. She rushed towards him and he met her half-way, taking her in his arms with a smile and sigh of relief.

"My love, who is it you bring with you?" he asked as they pulled away but not apart.

"Stormcloaks," she answered. "The last surviving of the army you sent, it seems." Her heart hurt for Rayya, Kemaan, and Yngvar the Singer. "The Dunmer and the Khajiit are new. Introduce yourselves."

"Volediri of House Gidralo," bowed the Dunmer. She didn't look pleased to see Ulfric and offered no 'sir''s or 'Your Grace''s.

"Dra'hana," said the Khajiit. "I am honored to meet you, Ulfric Stormcloak."

"Do you seek to take your oaths?" Ulfric asked pensively.

"Correct," said Dra'hana, while Volediri merely inclined her head.

"Galmar, see to it," Ulfric ordered with a casual wave of his hand.

Galmar clapped a hand on Thorunn's shoulder as he passed. "Good to see you, lass," he said. He took Volediri and Dra'hana from the room, leaving a hollow silence behind.

"Kottir Red-Shoal, I would have you return to our camp in the Reach, but not yet, not until I have men to send with you. I have good news." He took Thorunn's hand in his, smiling genuinely at her. "Hammerfell has agreed to assist us. In two weeks time, fifteen-thousand Alik'r will be at our disposal, heeded by Queen Ahleen."

 _Thank Talos._ Thorunn's confidence was restored to her. "At what expense?" she asked, ever suspicious of one's intentions.

"They ask only for us to assist them in return when the time comes."

A small price to pay, in hindsight. They couldn't afford to think about the long-term consequences right now, though. Thorunn nodded in acknowledgement. "That's good news. We'll need to map out what we're going to do with them."

"I have already begun," Ulfric responded testily. He ran his eyes over the group Thorunn had brought with her. "You lot can retire to the training grounds with the rest of the garrison. Hot food and warm beds await. There's healing in the Temple of the Divines if you need it and a sum of gold will be delivered to each of you in due time for ensuring my betrothed's safe arrival. Thongvor, go with Jorleif."

After they were gone, Ulfric placed a hand on the small of Thorunn's back and led her up the stairs. "I heard of Altair's capture," he said. "There is... troubling implications regarding Thongvor and his regent."

Thorunn's brow creased. "Elaborate."

He sighed tiredly. "Freya Gentry's 'snakes' tell her that Vikkesia willingly let the Dominion into the city shortly after a letter from Thongvor was deployed."

"And you trust her word?"

"Do I have any other choice?"

He wasn't wrong. He'd chosen Freya for his council with good reason, and he wouldn't have done so if her information wasn't good nor if she wasn't trustworthy. "Acting against Thongvor could ruin any chance we have of gentling the Dominion's presence in Markarth," Thorunn said.

He hesitated for just a moment, and that told Thorunn all she needed to know. He'd distanced himself emotionally from her in the past three weeks. And now he was withholding information from her.

"Ulfric," she warned. She stopped at the top of the stairs.

"With Thongvor indisposed, we have an excuse as to why we didn't answer the Dominion in the time period they gave us. It will give us more time and simultaneously deal with a potential traitor," he explained haughtily. He'd lowered his voice, careful not to be overheard.

"You plan to kill him." Thorunn shifted her weight and crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes.

"I am left with little choice, Thorunn."

"You are always left with choices." She had to fight to keep her voice level. "There are questionable rumors flying about your name right now, that you've been executing people like flies. Are they true?"

He sighed, and started to defend himself-

" _Don't,_ " she demanded. "Do not ever sigh at me like I'm some child who just won't understand. Are they true?"

" _Yes,_ Thorunn, many people have been sentenced to the headsman's axe as of late," he snapped impatiently. "This is war. One too many have spoken out against me and I will not have people spreading doubt in my leadership. We can't afford it, not now."

He was wrong, but was it too late to reason with him? "You can't afford to kill half of your people for unfounded reasons, either," she retorted.

"Unfounded? They spew _treason._ "

"If so many people oppose you, perhaps you shouldn't be king." She regretted the words the moment they left her mouth. That regret deepened as Ulfric's expression twisted into anger.

"Get out of my sight," he ordered. "I have enough doubt lain on my shoulders. I don't need it from my lover as well." He started to shoulder past her, but Thorunn caught his forearm and yanked him back.

"You need to learn how to contend with opposition," she said. "If a brick wall's in your way, you can't just sack it. You go around it."

He rolled his eyes. She slapped him, fist backhanding into his cheek at full force.

His head whipped around with the force and he stumbled before regaining his balance. He held his steadily bruising jaw, staring at her in shock. She held her ground, arching an expectant brow.

For an agonizingly intense moment, they simply stared at each other, their gazes fighting for dominance. Ulfric was first to relax. He clenched his jaw. "It's good to have you back," he stated.

She smiled thinly. "It's good to be back."


	37. Cavalry

Before anything, Thorunn went to the study to check on the dragon's egg. Nothing had changed since last she saw it, save for the glimmer around its shell being notably brighter. The Amulet of Mara Thorunn had used as a ward still sat in front of the hearth, radiating warmth and protection in the same way the flames danced around the egg. Thorunn left the study feeling significantly reassured.

After that, she took the longest bath she'd ever taken, then she'd retired to Ulfric. During their first round, he was less than graceful and eager to get between her legs, having gone weeks without relieve. She could feel the stiffness in his movement and the stress in the tightness of his muscles. Their second round was slower and sensual, and Ulfric whispered his love for her against her neck when he filled her.

The following two weeks were a waiting game. They could do nothing but sit ducks and occasionally lay a card as they waited for the Redguards to arrive. The Dominion progressed into Rorikstead and Karthwasten. Ulfric sent men to protect the smallfolk, but the attempts were futile. The elves took the villages with little to no opposition and there was nothing Ulfric and Thorunn could do about it.

They arranged a gift for Queen Ahleen, as was customary. Ulfric commisioned a Skyforge steel sword from Eorlund Gray-Mane, which arrived a week's time later. The hilt was tipped with the head of a lion that had rubies for eyes, and the remainder of the hilt was emblazoned with intricate designs and flawless amethysts. Queen Ahleen held a fondness for pretty swords and ugly battles. The lion was the heraldry of her rule.

Housing an army of fifteen-thousand men in one city was near impossible, so they pitched as many tents as they could in the outskirts and hoped it'd be enough. The tents would stretch to the edges of Haafingar Hold. Thorunn did wonder how the Redguards planned to get around the Reach, considering that was the chokepoint between Hammerfell and Skyrim, and where the Dominion was nesting.

On the fifth day, the scouts Ulfric sent returned. He estimated the Dominion had a near twenty-thousand men in Skyrim alone. Without a doubt, however many they lost would be sent in reinforcements. Skyrim's advantage? The Dominion could only easily enter through High Rock, and their numbers were limited within the Breton domain. Coming in through Cyrodiil would mean pushing the Empire into another war with Skyrim, which both Ulfric and Thorunn agreed in the notion that that was too abhorrent even for Imperials.

But they didn't rule out that opportunity. Nords would have taken it whether it meant ruffling the Empire's feathers or not, but Altmer were not Nords. They were more diplomatic than anything and cared too much for honeyed words and piety. The Empire would have no choice but to let the Dominion pass, lest they wanted to disobey their precious White-Gold Concordat. Thorunn's hope was that the Dominion simply wouldn't ask.

She spent the rest of those two weeks pining over Hammerfell's hidden intentions. Nothing was ever as simple as, "help me, I help you." Perhaps they wanted coin, or were expecting some incomprehensibly large sum of gold, or wanted to take Skyrim from her newly-won independence and declare homage. Thorunn feared for the future, but was relieved for the present.

All the while, Jorleif spent hours and hours preparing a mighty feast for the eve of Queen Ahleen's arrival. Thorunn told him he was trying too hard, and he told her she wasn't trying hard enough, that the arrival of a queen was never to be underestimated in its power. Morale would spike, he said, the men would adopt a battle fury so fierce that one man alone could stampede an army. _"We can't spare enough expense for a queen!"_ Thorunn also knew that Velerys Dothri was trailing Jorleif's every expense, trying to make up for the costs of this feast.

The Bards College worked tirelessly as well, proclaiming that music was the most powerful way to express appreciation. Thorunn had glanced at the list of songs they were preparing for the night. There were playful ballads like _Ragnar the Red_ , _The Battle of the Ale_ , _A Less Rude Song_ , and _The Sultry Argonian Bard_ (Giraud Gemane had to fight for that one's approval; Jorleif had been appalled by the vulgarity of its content while Ulfric laughed and told the bard his ears yearned for it). More solemn ballads were prepared as well, including _The Dragonborn Comes_ , _The Age of Oppression_ , and _The Whisperer's Song_. Many songs were in Yoku, the ancestral language of the Redguards, that Thorunn had never heard of nor knew how to pronounce.

All the festivities rang hollow while an army of Stormcloak brothers and sisters were put to the torch, their final resting place being a battlefield. Thorunn's heart ached in longing for what trivia and knowledge Altair would have to offer about all this. He'd know how to please the Redguards and pronounce their words. She wondered how he was faring, if he fared at all. Two weeks had passed and Thongvor had not gone to Markarth's gates. All Thorunn could do was pray the elves had been bluffing. Given their history... she doubted it.

The Redguard emissary that had first delivered the proposition to Ulfric had been exact in his estimation. At noontide on the fourteenth day, a watchman reported that dark-skinned people were marching their way with jewels pierced in their skin and vibrantly colored garb. Ulfric and Thorunn gathered an entourage including Galmar, Jorleif, Freya, Velerys, and a small complement of guards, then made their way to the gates of Solitude to personally greet the army. Today, the bear of the Stormcloaks and the lion of Hammerfell joined as one.

A litter was at the head of the army, red beaded curtains draped over the windows and obscuring whoever sat within. It was carried by four men in ceremonial gilded armor and silk red tagelmusts. Their expressions were ritualistically stone as they approached. A firm knock sounded on the window and they halted, then out stepped the Queen of Hammerfell.

For a woman who revered battle, she was quite daintily built. A mane of black curls pooled around her face, held down and tamed by a crown placed on the top of her head. The crown was gold and blazing, crested with an emerald-eyed lion. She wore a red and gold silk toga that left one small breast bare, with all sorts of rubies and opals emblazoning its convoluted designs. Thorunn had never seen anyone look so extravagant and powerful at the same time. Perhaps that stemmed from the Nord's image of powerful being that of a robust armored figure covered in blood and a bloodthirsty snarl on their face.

Queen Ahleen's face was a pretty one. She had bowed lips and wide-set slanting brown eyes with winged coal on the lids. Her freckled cheeks lilted when she smiled. "High King Ulfric," she said with a graceful bow. She spoke with a heavy accent and a voice that reminded Thorunn of cinder blocks. "More beautiful a land I have never seen. I am honored to preserve it."

Ulfric took her hand and placed a feathery kiss on her knuckles. "Your presence is our saving grace," he said truthfully. He gestured to Thorunn. "This is the Dragonborn and Harbinger of the Companions. She is my betrothed and my top-ranking lieutenant, on top of that."

"Well, well, aren't you a busy woman?" chided the queen, not unkindly in her comely smile. She held her hand out for Thorunn to kiss, which she adhered to. "Dragonborn, it is. I hear your Voice wields a power unmatched by the sharpest blade in the world." There was a narrow to her eye and a twinge in her smile that unsettled Thorunn.

She knew then what Hammerfell wanted.

She forced passiveness. "A sword will kill me all the same," she responded testily.

"No doubt," said the queen, grinning in a way that flashed a set of perfectly straight white teeth. "Yet here you stand, beautiful as ever with all your scars."

"You're too kind." _Literally._

Galmar stepped forward, holding the jeweled sword in his hands. The blade gleamed in the sunlight. "A gift for you, Majesty." He knelt and lifted it to her.

Her brown eyes widened with greed and her smile deepened with awe. Graciously, she took the sword from Galmar's hands. "What steel is this? I have never seen anything like it."

"Skyforge, Your Grace. There's none better."

"Truly," she agreed. She ran her index finger along the flat of the blade to the very tip. Thorunn saw that her nails were painted black and tipped with silver gems, like moons on a night sky. She passed the sword to one of her champions. "Careful with that, now." She turned, sweeping the ground with her dress. "I have a gift for you as well." She pushed aside the curtains of her litter and peered inside, saying something to someone in there.

When the person stepped out, Thorunn's eyes went wide. "How did you... how?"

The Redguards had gussied Altair up. His left eye had gone white and glossy, the tell-tale signs of blindness, and he used a cane to help him walk. A groomed, cropped beard covered his jaw. His blond curls had grown past his shoulders, though now he had it tied into a bun at the back of his head. He smiled when he saw Thorunn.

"We heard of his capturing as we were passing through the Reach," explained the queen. "We figured he was of value to you, being the son of a Jarl. I sent an infantry team through and a few hours later, they arrived with him. He is very charming." She smiled up at Altair.

"But how... how did you get into Markarth? The city's carved from the side of a mountain."

"You would be surprised of how many secret passageways there are in your cities. They were seemingly built for wars. Give the enemy an edge to keep the fighting interesting." There was that white grin again.

Altair hobbled over to Thorunn on his cane, wincing with every step. He reached out for her and she met him half-way, enveloping him in a gentle hug as soon as she reached him. He whispered into her ear, "Be wary of her," before pulling away. His expression gave way to nothing.

"Now then!" said the queen, clapping her slender ringed hands together. "I heard talk of a feast."


	38. Five Children

**A/N: Not particularly happy with this chapter. Probably stems from my crippling inability to write romance scenes, but here's what I got lol.**

 **X X X**

Solitude hadn't seen a more festive day since Thorunn and Ulfric's engagement ceremony. Evidently, Redguards were equal parts warmongering and eccentric. Thorunn found it easy to respect that.

Altair was of a different mind. His smile was uneasy, and with his already grizzled appearance, his pensive frown made him look almost intimidating, even with the cane. Nordic women liked the rugged brooding look, so they flocked around him anyway. Altair was annoyed but nothing less than a gentleman. He politely declined their offers to dance and returned their empty compliments half-heartedly.

He sat beside Thorunn at the high table. Ulfric sat on her left, and to his left was Galmar. Eriswe delivered their trays of food and seemed to be making friends among the other servants, judging by how she exchanged smiles and laughs with them. Thorunn was glad to see they were treating her well.

The hall erupted into cheers, laughter and cat calls when the bards began a boisterous display of The Sultry Argonian Bard. Pantea Ateia was portraying the noblewoman Ellya Erdain, while Viarmo wore a fake lizard's tail and feigned the mighty Croon-Tail.

"My lady, I could never perform your request!" he exclaimed dramatically.

"Oh? Is it too fast for you?" 'Ellya Erdain' responded haughtily.

"I fear that it may damage my instrument!"

"Ah, but you seem to handle your instrument so well, my darling."

"You flatter me, my lady." Croon-Tail took his fake leather tail and pulled it between his legs, hanging his head. Thorunn looked over at Queen Ahleen, who was grinning and whispering things to her second. What Thorunn would have gave to know what she was saying...

"Yes, well it is such a large and magnificent piece. May I hold it?" Ellya was saying.

"Goodness no! The queen of Hammerfell would never approve of such a public display."

"Oh, you must get to know me," the queen herself called, grinning. The crowd laughed, some banging their mugs against the table.

Recovering from her own bout of laughter, Ellya continued, trailing a seductive hand along Croon-Tail's chest. _Oooo,_ chided the crowd suggestively. "Then, may I suggest a private performance? Perhaps, away from the noise of this palace where we both may enjoy your tremendous talent..."

Croon-Tail made an impressive display of bashfulness. "Surely you don't mean for me to accompany you to your room?"

"Indeed I do, my sweet. Indeed I do." Her hand trailed to Croon-Tail's and she grasped it before walking a ways from the stage as a pool of cat calls and hooting sounded from their audience. After a couple steps, they turned back, bowed, and took their seats grinning.

Thorunn clapped along with the rest. Laid out before her on the table was a mirage of delicacies: Boiled ham, raspberry tarts, samon seasoned with lavender, exotic vegetables Thorunn had never even seen before, lobster, bread with blackberry jam spread across its surface, among many other dishes Thorunn knew she wouldn't get to, not even with the second life she was fending for.

Her gowns were beginning to stretch tight over her growing stomach. She made no effort to hide it any more than Ulfric did. She wasn't deaf to the whispers carrying throughout the hall, either. Some made jokes about her getting fat and comfortable, others solemnly foretold the mighty strength of a child between the High King and the Dragonborn. None said anything to her directly, though. Rather pregnant or fat, Thorunn was still as intimidating as the deepest bowls of Oblivion.

The bards took up another song after their display and the hall returned to their amiable chatter. Many presented offerings to the Queen of Hammerfell, including swords, trinkets, gems, gowns, and crowns. They were squabbling for a queen's favor, thirsting for free advertisement of their wares or sums of coin. Thorunn thought they ought to be trying to win their own king's favor.

Dra'hana and Mulnak were getting along quite well, Thorunn noted. They were engaged in a carefree waltz that looked awkward with their conflicting sizes and structures. They didn't seem to notice, though, and the grins on their faces evoked a faint one of Thorunn's own. Isha and Vunthar seemed to be irregular talkative to each other this night, as well. They'd been like that ever since Vunthar carried her comatose body all the way to Whiterun.

Ulfric sighed next to her, bored. "Let's dance," he said suddenly, standing up and extending a hand for her.

Arching an amused brow, she took it and allowed him to lead her from the dais to the floor. Many heads turned their way, though they were too consumed with their own adventures to spare more than a lingering glance. Slow dancing wasn't the style of Ulfric and Thorunn, being robust warriors with less than graceful ways of dancing, so luckily the song the bards sang was nothing of the sort.

Instead, it was a rather playful ballad from Hammerfell about a love-scorned sword-singer in the days of the Ra Gada. Ulfric and Thorunn placed the flat of their palms together and danced to their heart's content, laughing and teasing each other's poor dancing while the music loomed.

 _In old Ra Gada days  
When Forebears came ashore  
Among them were sword-singers  
According to the lore_

 _At fore were Yaghoub's Thirteen_  
 _Noble Ansei all_  
 _One there was named Navid_  
 _This song is of his fall_

 _Navid loved Sayeedeh_  
 _Sayeedeh loved him not_  
 _Her heart was pledged to Ihlqub_  
 _The Thirteen's finest shot_

Ulfric's footwork was sloppy, but so were Thorunn's, and neither of them cared. Queen Ahleen took inspiration from their display and joined them, using her second as a partner in a graceful gyrate. At some point, they traded partners and back again, none really paying attention to what they were doing.

 _As Ihlqub plied his bow  
In practice on the beach  
Navid approached with empty hands  
Until he was in reach_

 _While Ihlqub faced the target_  
 _Navid called up his shehai_  
 _Slew his love's love with sacred sword_  
 _And watched his rival die_

 _Back to Yaghoub's beachhead_  
 _Went into his tent_  
 _Fell for shame on his own sword_  
 _Dishonor thus was spent_

It was perhaps the most unprofessional they could have done, but Thorunn was so tired of expending herself through ugly war that she didn't care. Ulfric was on the same page as her; he smiled so much it was almost possible to imagine him with frown lines. He spun her around, taking her by the waist and pulling her body to his as she turned back to him.

The instruments quieted into a cease just as Ulfric placed a chaste kiss on her lips.

"You dance like warriors," Ahleen teased, pulling them from their moment. She only grew prettier with the energy of the night, her cheeks flushed and her chest heaving with the breaths she took. "So ungainly, yet your smiles make up for it. My people weren't exaggerating when they spoke of your love." There was a sadness to her smile, as if she envied their marriage. _Does she not harbor the same love for her husband?_

"No," Ulfric agreed, a hand at the small of Thorunn's back.

Ahleen's eyes flitted to Thorunn's stomach. "You are showing," she said knowingly, inclining her head.

Thorunn's eyes flitted to Ahleen's stomach. "So are you."

They held stares for a long moment, shock skipping across Ahleen's expression before shifting into her signature cool etiquette. "You are observant as you are beautiful," she said. She sighed affectionately. "I am with child, yes. My fourth. I pray to Satakal for a son."

As for the gender of Thorunn's babe, she hadn't put much thought into it. She'd be happy with either, she supposed. "Your husband let you go to war while carrying his child?" she asked.

"Your husband let _you_ go to war while carrying his child?" Ahleen reiterated.

"Fair point," she admitted. She wondered if Ahleen sought an arranged marriage on top of assistance and whatever she was trying to wrench from Thorunn being Dragonborn. How Ahleen knew Thorunn was pregnant was a mystery and near impossible, so she laid those suspicions to rest.

The feast wore on. They gambled, participated in drinking games, brawled, ate, and danced, all in honor of the queen, much to her delight. Thorunn caught up with Ralof in more detail over a bottle of Black-Briar mead and learned that he discovered a fondness for mosaics and puzzles during what little free time he was given throughout the war. She tried to get more details out of Altair, also, but he claimed he didn't want to ruin the night with talk of torture and war. She worried for him. He'd spent the better part of the night doing nothing but sitting up on the dais alone, nursing a mug of ale and pushing away anyone who tried to speak with him. He was being awfully observant. Thorunn wondered what for.

The feast was coming to a close when she got the answer to that question. She was sitting at the high table in her customary seat next to Altair, a queenly smile on her lips and a content gleam in her eye. The music was beautiful, the people were happy, and their bellies were all full of mead and joy.

"This song..." Altair said, eyes narrowing suspiciously. He leaned forward just slightly and poised his ears. It was one of his first times speaking through the entire ordeal.

"What about it?" questioned Thorunn. She listened, too, trying to make sense of his unease. A quick glance over to the bard's table revealed that no bard she recognized was playing the song.

 _Do you have five children, Mother?  
I've heard that you do.  
Five children? No, tonight I have four!  
Four children, sweet and pure.  
Four and no more!_

It was a solemn and melodic hymn, like that of a mother's nursery rhyme.

"No," Altair said, suddenly alert. "No, you need to call this feast off now."

"Why?"

" _Now,_ Thorunn."

 _Do you have four children, Mother?  
I've heard that you do.  
Four children? No, tonight I have three!  
Three children abed late today.  
Three and no more!_

Confused but concerned, Thorunn turned her head to Ulfric. She opened her mouth to relay the order when a sudden scream of pain howled through the thick of all the merriment. Thorunn rose to her feet abruptly as the crowd began parting to see who the culprit was, come to reveal a seeping pool of blood at the foot of a dagger piercing the gut of noblewoman Bryling.

In the midst of chaos- the screaming, the panic, the piercing sound of someone unsheathing their blade -the singing prevailed. It was a disturbing scream now, the masculine voice a growling shout.

 _Do you have three children, Mother!  
I've heard that you do!  
Three children? No, tonight I have two!  
Two children, quiet and shy!  
Two and no more!_

"Evacuate the palace!" Thorunn shouted to no avail. She fumbled at her belt for her sword. More noblemen and women were falling- how many of these people were assassins? Thorunn's eyes searched for the queen and found her being led from the hall shielded by her champions, slipping through the door. The men with the daggers didn't wear tagelmusts or have dark skin, so she doubted this was the Redguards' doing. Panic soared throughout the hall. What once was a place of laughter and cheering became a cacophony of death and screaming. This wasn't the Redguards' doing, no. This was the Dark Brotherhood. But who was their target?

 _Do you have two children, Mother!  
I've heard that you do!  
Two children? No, tonight I have one!  
One child, singing a song!  
One and no more!_

Some men drew their swords but knew not where to direct them. The assassins were everywhere and no where all at once. "Thorunn, we have to get out of here," Altair was saying, but she could scarcely hear him over the chaos. Ulfric grabbed her arm and tugged, but she was already one step ahead of him, starting towards the door while Altair struggled to his feet and hobbled along with the help of Galmar. The exit was only a few.

 _DO YOU HAVE ONE CHILD, MOTHER?  
I'VE HEARD THAT YOU DO!  
ONE CHILD? PLEASE, I HAVE NONE!  
THEY'RE WITH THEIR FATHER NOW,  
AND LIVE HERE NO MORE!_

Shadows bounced in an out of existence. They danced a deadly waltz to the music, their dark silhouettes prancing from wall to wall to man to woman to child. The gleam of steal caught the light in all different directions. A fireball lit the entire hall at once, followed by a hoarse maniacal laughter. Thorunn saw a little girl latch onto the neck of a grown man and gnaw his throat out. And throughout it all, that terrible, terrible music.


	39. On Black Seas

Too many things were happening at once for Thorunn to make sense of it. On one end, guards were scrabbling for their swords and swinging at anyone who looked faulty. On another, Alik'r soldiers and Stormcloak soldiers alike were shoving each other as they fought to get out of the palace. The music had ceased and Thorunn almost missed it. It had been drowning out all the death.

Now the screams were laid bare. Thorunn had her sword drawn, ready to strike at whoever dared test her. "Altair," she warned, moving cautiously across the dais alongside Ulfric.

"I don't know!" he exclaimed. "I don't know what's happening. I don't know why they would do this." He'd drawn his dagger, but it was his sword hand that had to hold his cane in place. He wouldn't be able to do much if he were attacked.

The hall was beginning to empty. "We need to move," Ulfric shouted. Hurriedly, he grabbed Thorunn's wrist and pulled her along as he moved from the dais. Stepping onto the floor meant painting their selves a target for the assassins. They had no other choice, either.

The dancing shadows were beginning to dwindle. Thorunn assumed that meant some had left now that their contracts were fulfilled. She only wished she knew what their main target was. She and the others moved quickly through the floor, stepping over the dead and dying and trying to dodge arrows and spurts of magic.

"Majesty, with me!" one of their guards hollered. His shield was up and covering his head and three brothers surrounded him. Ulfric conceded and the unit of guards pooled around them, forming a shield wall to protect them.

Two fell before they made it even halfway to the door. Thorunn grew weary and began to wonder why they were fleeing in the first place- these were backstreet assassins going up against battle-hardened war veterans. Sword drawn, Thorunn shoved a guard out of her way and picked up a shield from one of the fallen soldiers. Ulfric and Galmar followed suit. With his wounds, Altair was indisposed, so Thorunn pushed him behind her and ordered him to stay close.

One shadow popped into view and did not vanish right after. "Altair!" the shadow growled. Their form came into view, revealing the slender body of a woman.

Thorunn hesitated in pointing her sword. Altair laid a hand on her arm to halt her as he stepped forth. "Stop this, Astrid," he commanded.

" _Ho ho ho and he he he, break that lute across my knee!_ " sung a joyous, high-pitched voice from behind them. Thorunn sharply whipped her head around and spotted a man in red and black jester's robes, prancing to and fro and juggling his daggers. He barked a merry sing-song laugh.

"What in Talos' name is wrong with that halfwit?" Ulfric grumbled.

"He's... odd," Altair supplied, followed by a shake of his head. "It doesn't matter. What is the meaning of this, Astrid?"

"You know what the meaning of this is," she hissed. Sharp grey eyes burned through the slit between her hood and mask. "You would have us believe you're dead while you prance around with these... these warmongering fools."

"' _Warmongering_ ,'" Galmar scoffed as he tugged an assassin's dagger free from the chest of a fallen nobleman.

"You belong to us, Altair. The Night Mother whispers only to you, you know this. How could you leave us? And before your contract is even fulfilled..." She shook her head, abashed.

" _...and if the bard should choose to fight, why then I'll set his clothes alight!_ "

"What contract?" Thorunn demanded, eyes boring into Altair's.

"One the Stormcloaks may be in favor of," he answered shortly, not taking his eyes off of Astrid. He was torn, she could see it clear. He couldn't tell this woman he planned on returning in front of Ulfric, and he couldn't say he wasn't going to return unless he wanted to break his oath.

Ulfric had given him a decision during his trial. Forsake his Sithis and Night Mother in favor of the Divines, and denounce his servitude to the Dark Brotherhood, or meet his life's end. The Thalmor attacked before he could ever reach that decision and Ulfric had pardoned him for the role he played in Solitude's victory. Altair would not be pardoned a second time.

His knuckles were white against the handle of his cane. "I can't go with you, Astrid."

"What do you hope to do, then? Ignore the Night Mother and hope she goes away? It doesn't work like that. The only thing that will break her hold on you is the end of your life. Is it really worth it? Leaving your family and taking your life all for the sake of your _captors_?"

" _His captors come to play my king, play my king, play my king!_ "

"Perhaps we can work out a deal," Thorunn proposed before Altair dug a deeper hole. Astrid's narrowed eyes flitted her way. Ulfric's eyes turned to her as well, his lips slightly parted as if he were ready to retort if she said something he didn't agree with. "You can have your 'Listener' if you help us in the war effort against the Thalmor."

Astrid went to turn her down, but stopped herself short and considered it. "Would you allow us to fulfill our contracts without persecuting us?"

"So long as the target isn't one of us."

"Define 'one of us.'"

Thorunn gestured to the people at her sides, to Galmar and Ulfric and Jorleif.

The Dark Brotherhood leader hesitated. "One more thing," she said, testing Thorunn's limited generosity. "I want Commander Maro dead and the Penitus Oculatus out of Skyrim."

"They aren't supposed to be here in the first place," Ulfric stated, eyes narrowed. He was calculating. The heat and confusion of the moment was the only thing on Thorunn's side. Without it, she'd have to convince him as well as Astrid.

"Deal with them," Astrid ordered, lowering her mask and revealing a straight nose above thin lips. Sharp features, they were.

"And what is this contract the 'Stormcloaks may be in favor of'?" Galmar questioned.

Astrid smirked. "Emperor Titus Mede the Second."

Galmar exchanged a look with Ulfric. They had a secret language like that. "You realize if the Empire catches wind that we've allied with the Dark Brotherhood conveniently around the time their Emperor is assassinated, they'll declare another war against Skyrim."

"You defeated them once," Astrid reminded him.

"We do not fear Imperial dogs," Galmar snapped. "They can drive at us a hundred times if they think it will get them somewhere. Each time, we'll lessen their numbers until they're dust."

Ulfric waved his hand in agreement. "That we will."

"Do we have an arrangement, then?" prompted Astrid. "Our Listener in exchange for immunity and assistance."

The deal leaned heavily on Ulfric's side. The Listener must have been worth a lot to the Dark Brotherhood. Stiffly, Ulfric nodded.

"Good. Altair, stay here until your wounds are healed. You know the way to the sanctuary." With a wave of her hand, she vanished. Thorunn saw several other silhouettes disappear out of the corner of her eye.

The last vanished with the ghost of the fool's disturbing songs. " _...and if I spy a singing bird, I'll snap its neck before it's heard..._ "


	40. For Blood

Ulfric marched up the stairs to the scaffold. The entire city combined with his and Queen Ahleen's armies pooled at the foot of it, eagerly awaiting his words. Thorunn and Galmar stood at his sides as he held up a hand to silence the crowd. "People of Skyrim," he called. "The Dominion rages our country and slaughters our people in the name of their power-hungry agenda to dominate all of Tamriel. There is not a person standing here today who has not lost a brother or friend to these elves. How long did we let them ravage our homes, usurp our Talos and hunt our families for sport?

"We defeated the Empire and claimed Skyrim's independence only a year ago. The Thalmor would see us chained once more under tyranny and bloodshed and dishonor. We lost over a thousand men during the seize of the Reach, but that number pales in comparison to the thousands of brothers and sisters they murdered and tortured for dreaming of a Skyrim where Talos is rightfully present. How many lives does it take to say no more? I say it now: No. More.

"Today we join forces with the mighty Alik'r to win Skyrim's freedom once and for all. Today, we do not fight for honor and glory. We fight for our fallen brothers and sisters. We fight for our children who deserve to walk a world that does not hate them. We fight for blood, for justice. _For vengeance_."

The army cheered their approval, banging the hilts of their axes against their shields.

Ulfric's voice rung out above it all. "Onward, men! For Skyrim!"

The units turned and began marching, blue garb joined with gold, the bear joined with the lion. Thorunn had sent for the Circle a week ago and they stood there now, awaiting her along with Altair. His wounds had healed and now he wore Stormcloak Officer armor. His blind eye made him look all the more intimidating with his bear's helm and enchanted Stalhrim daggers. Isha, Vunthar, Mulnak, Volediri, and Dra'hana were somewhere within the masses, being heeded by Kottir Red-Shoal.

Together, Skyrim's men and Hammerfell's reach about a total of twenty-five thousand, and this wasn't even the bulk of their armies. Hammerfell had another hundred-thousand back home and Skyrim neared the same number, but they couldn't spend every drop they had into one battle. Soldiers needed to protect the cities, as well, and guard the borders- especially now, with only one border not leading into Dominion territory.

Battles didn't win wars, either. The battle they marched to now was likely only the beginning. The Dominion would drive at them again and again, relentless until either they or the Nords were extinct or one or the other yielded. Skyrim would not bend a second time, not under Ulfric's reign.

Thorunn fell into stride among the vanguard, surrounded by her personal party. She'd be leading a charge into the right field while Queen Ahleen took the left and Ulfric the middle. Hammerfell's queen was nothing like the dainty girl who'd stepped off a jeweled litter some days ago. Now she stood in blood-stained light armor with two cutlasses hanging from a leather belt, her pretty hair and pretty face obscured behind a helmet. Behind that helmet lay a face hungry for battle.

She was delivering a speech to her warriors in the Redguard tongue, Yoku. Though Thorunn couldn't discern a single word, the effect of the speech was palpable. Doubt transitioned to certainty on the faces of her men; frowns to confident smirks; fear to courage.

Thorunn couldn't stay to watch. It was time to march. Her unit wasn't the one she would have chosen, but she did what was required of her. She was leading the archers, dogs, and light-armored warriors. They would be the first to hit and the first to be struck.

Following right behind would be Ulfric's unit- the vanguard, composed of the biggest and meanest the Stormcloaks had to offer. They were the berserkers, the fist of the army while the rest were mere fingers that came in to clean up the leftovers. Mages would follow as well, guarded by the shields of the warriors. While the archers hailed arrows and the dogs did their lightwork, hundreds and hundreds of seasoned warriors would charge through the lines.

Lastly would be Ahleen and her cutlasses. Mages and archers were among her numbers along with warriors and duel-wielders. They would be the last push, and most likely their last limb. Ahleen's unit was strategically the most diverse, put together with the hope that their combined forces would be the changers of the tide, should the battle not fall to Skyrim's favor.

...And if it did fall to Skyrim's favor, their march would not end with the last fallen elf. Vikkesia Hrethgir and Thongvor Silver-Blood had a lot to answer for. Ulfric had allowed Thongvor into their march, if only to lure him into a false sense of security. Ulfric had always liked the build-up. Psychological warfare was as much his game as physical.

And so they went.

It was a two day march to the Reach, where the Dominion nested. Thorunn spent the better half of those days whispering her Thu'um: " _O-dah-viing_ ," she'd say to no avail. " _O-dah-viing_." When she wasn't calling out to deaf ears, she was calling out to Talos for strength, to Mara for protection, to Akatosh for guidance. With the weight of battle looming over her, her mind would have her believe that not even her Gods heard her, but if she were to get through this, she needed to remain vigilant.

The battle that ensued was longer than the march and thrice as dooming. Ulfric's army surrounded the Dominion's camps, hailing arrows and spells and deploying blades and axes and dogs. To Thorunn's left, an Alik'r warrior took down three elves in one stroke, and to her right, a Stormcloak berserker obliterated an elven mage with a battleaxe. Destriers rode into battle on armored hooves, bringing with them fierce riders and a thunderous roar of movement. Altair didn't seem to be hindered by his bad eye; he fought as ferociously as Thorunn had ever seen him, more even.

As for herself, she poured her reserve into every slash. A kill here, a kill there, several corpses here and thrice that number there. It was a methodical rhythm of bashing her shield, thrusting her sword, dodging a fireball, Shouting a fireball, jumping to the defense of a brother, joining the offense of another. Her armor was slick with blood and chunks of flesh as the earth was slick with gore and heavy with corpses, many of them wearing blue but more of them wearing gold. Stormcloak archers hailed from clifftops and ridges; Alik'r cutlasses disappeared into the shadows only to appear a moment later with their blades sunk into the flesh of an elf; Winterhold mages pierced hundreds of unsuspecting chests with ice spikes or electricity; destriers trampled the wounded and their riders inflicted the wounded.

All was going well- until night fell. That was when Farkas's movement started adopting a familiar ferocity, and Thorunn's panic soared enough to make her abandon her opponent and rush to her companion's side. "Farkas!" she bellowed, taking up the opponent on his flank.

"I got it under control!" he returned, but there was a growl in his voice that didn't sit well with her.

"Farkas..." She met the elf's blade with her own, parried it, and shoved her sword into their gut before they could make a comeback.

"I got it!"

Then his armor started to break. He opened his mouth and screamed, out of agony and rage and hunger. His eyes- once blue, now yellow -turned unto Thorunn, helpless and pleading. " _Get out of here_ ," she ordered, but it was too late. He made to turn and run and merely fell to his knees, his screams growing louder and his armor growing more strained.

" _No,_ " Thorunn bellowed. "Get back! All of you!" There was no use. This was a war, and if it wasn't a bloodbath already, it was going to be.

"Farkas!" This voice belonged to Vilkas, Thorunn discovered when she turned her head. There was a wound in his thigh and another on his brow.

When she looked back, she was looking at a twisted beast, seven feet tall and covered in scraggly brown fur, foot-long talons stretching out from its fingers. Its appearance paled in comparison to the look in its eye; there was hunger, aye, but there was _pain_.

And there was death. Whatever hesitation the sight of a werewolf caused the battlefield, it turned to panic when Farkas started attacking. Stormcloak, Alik'r, Altmer- it made no difference. Flesh was flesh and Farkas wanted it all. Battle cries turned to screams of panic, destriers reared and knocked their riders off only to trample them in their attempts to flee.

This was a mistake, Thorunn thought as she started backing away, rigid with horror. This was my fault, bringing them here.

Suddenly she understood Ulfric's burdens. A choice, he'd called soldiers. _Every man he defeats, he must choose whether that man lives or dies, whether to deliver the killing blow or keep walking._

Farkas kept killing, and Thorunn kept hesitating. Her blade weighed heavy in her right hand. Four Stormcloaks fell to one swipe of Farkas's mangled talons. The beast blood would run thick for hours at this rate, perhaps until morning, and she _knew_ she couldn't afford that.

"Harbinger!" Vilkas growled from behind her. "Don't!"

 _Do I still have a choice, Ulfric?_ she thought. She wondered where he was, and if he was watching her hesitation. She could turn and run and leave her people to the mercy of a beast that would tear at them again and again with godly stamina and even more godly speed; or she could charge and thrust her blade through the beast's backside, saving an army but dooming a friend.

 _No,_ she decided. _I suppose I don't have a choice._

She made to charge.

A hand grabbed her arm and she whipped around to meet it with her blade, only to discover it was Ulfric. "Don't," he warned.

"What the hell do you mean 'don't'?" Thorunn demanded. "Our men are dying by the hundreds."

"So are the elves."

Horror struck her heart. Had it really come to this? "No," she declared. "No. That isn't right." Sacrificing their men to defeat their enemies for the greater good... that wasn't how they did things. That wasn't the way of the Nords.

"War isn't right. Turn away." Ulfric Stormcloak glowered at her. "That's an order."

She heard a beastly growl in the distance, followed by more screaming, more confusion, more panic, more dying. _This isn't right._ "Our men..."

"...know what they signed up for," he finished. "Turn away, Stormblade."

"They signed up for liberty, not for slaughter."

He continued to glower.

 _Gods be good, it truly has come to this._ She yanked her arm free and shoved past him, in the opposite direction of the chaos she was leaving behind. _How many lives does it take to say no more?_ she wondered.


	41. The Blackest Light

The battle was won, not that it warmed Thorunn Stormblade's heart much. She'd took out her frustration on Dominion stragglers, hacking and slashing almost blindly at any piece of flesh wearing gilded armor, but it did little to stifle her rage. Ulfric steered clear of ire and wisely so.

"Stormblade!" someone called from behind her. She was skulking the field, making sure there were no more elves to be picked off. She turned at the voice and found it was Ralof. "Stormblade," he repeated as he slowed to a jog, nearing her. "What happened back there? Wasn't that... _beast_ one of the Companions?"

"Aye," she confirmed through gritted teeth.

"Then..."

"Aye."

He looked down.

"How many did we lose?" she asked.

"We're still counting, but... nine-thousand for us, five-thousand for the Alik'r. I estimate twenty-thousand for the elves."

Fourteen-thousand, then. Fourteen-thousand out of twenty-five thousand. Were it not for Thorunn's mistake and Ulfric's decision, that number would have been four-thousand at most. She looked around, holding her breath as her gaze touched the battlefield. What once was alive with beauty was blackened, turned to a graveyard with a vault of gloomy grey sky hanging over it. Innumerable corpses littered the field, so much so that Thorunn couldn't take more than two steps without having to step over one.

And it wasn't over.

"Dragonborn!" one of their men bellowed from beneath the ridge. "We're moving out!"

She looked back to Ralof, who was watching her anxiously. "After our escape at Helgen, you said you wouldn't have made it without me," she said, her voice low. His anxiety turned to confusion as she took a step towards him. "I don't believe that. No more than I believe that what I just did was forgivable." She stepped past him and began moving down the ridge. "Talos guide you, Ralof. Better than He guided me."

She joined what remained of their forces. From what she could see, most of her personal entourage had made it. Altair was sharpening his bloodied blade and Isha was fletching an arrow. Aela and Vilkas were next to one another, Vilkas clenching his fists and Aela her teeth. Thorunn approached them.

"Where is he?" she asked.

"You should have struck him down," Aela gritted quietly.

Thorunn paused, but only for a moment. "Where is he?" she repeated.

"Gone," Vilkas muttered. "After the battle, he changed back and looked around at what he'd done, and then he ran. I don't know where."

Thorunn knew how to find him, but with her pregnancy... "One of you should transform and find him."

Vilkas rounded on her. "You _dare_ tell us to harbor that curse after this?" he seethed. "You _dare_?"

She might have stood her ground, if fourteen-thousand men hadn't just died for naught at her behest. She might have took a step towards him, threatening, and spat back, _I don't dare, I order._

She didn't. She simply lowered her gaze to her feet.

"Do you know what they're calling this battle?" he continued, relentless in his anger. " _The Belly of the Wolf._ Not even something related to war, let alone the cause you told us we'd be fighting for. Do you realize what this is going to cost the Companions? They'll lead a crusade against us, Thorunn, they'll torch us and see us hanged and call it justice. Already the men are looking to Aela and I for answers. And we have nothing to give them!"

Her heart felt like it was twisting. Farkas was her brother, the first to welcome her into the Companions, the only one who never doubted her for a second. Just then she remembered the time he'd broken her sword trying to repair it, and brought her fifteen swords for compensation. There'd been cuts all over his arms from trying to carry them all at once. Farkas's heart was always the biggest of the Companions.

And yet she knew what had to be done. "There is something," she said quietly, her heart breaking with each word.

Vilkas's anger shifted to fear. "No," he declared.

Their army was beginning to march. "Find him, Vilkas," she said, and left him.

Ulfric was waiting for her at the city gates. The enormous, gold doors carved from stone were reduced to mere rubble. A trail of Dominion-armored corpses spotted the staircase and led to the gaping maw of the archway leading into the city. Thorunn wondered if these ones were the work of the army or Farkas. She didn't look at Ulfric as she walked alongside him, up the stairs, over the corpses, through the arch, into the abyss.

Market stands were nothing but splinters and dust, but a Stormcloak officer was comforting a woman whose tunic was in tatters, and another was helping a pair of filthy children. Slowly, people were emerging from their homes; Thorunn saw weary eyes through cracks in the doors, watching her and the king pass through and wondering if their suffering was finally at an end. Thorunn touched the Amulet of Talos resting at her chest.

They made way to the Keep, a grandiose castle of stone with intricate carvings etched into the walls and doors. Pillars stretched to the ceilings, made from stone as well. That was Markarth: stone, stone, and more stone, even the beds. It was said that the only thing more cold and uninviting than its walls were its people.

Flanked by an accompanying twelve Stormcloaks and one Galmar Stone-Fist, Thorunn and King Ulfric found Vikkesia Hrethgir chained next to Thongvor Silver-Blood at the foot of the throne. Ulfric didn't hesitate. He marched forth and kicked Thongvor square in the jaw. "Explain!" he growled.

Thongvor grunted and spat blood. "I had _nothing_ to do with this," he insisted.

"He isn't lying." Vikkesia was a pale brute of a Nordic woman, thick of waist and broad of shoulder, ripe with bulging muscles. Her dark hair was cropped short, framing a firm jaw, and her wide-set eyes were a murky blue set atop a sharp nose. A long scar stretched from the center of her forehead to the top of her collarbone. "I let them in. I surrendered."

Ulfric's eyes narrowed sharply. "I'm listening."

She chuckled humorlessly. "There's a first," she muttered. At the king's pointed silence, she continued. "They threatened to attack if I didn't. With Thongvor in Solitude, I had few enough men as it was, and the Dominion already had at least a hundred sleepers in the city. The battle was lost long before it was fought." She heaved a deep breath, and Thorunn saw her exhaustion palpably. "So I did the only thing I could to save my people."

"They aren't _your_ people-" Thongvor started, but Thorunn cut him off with a sharp kick to the throat. The Jarl spluttered and heaved.

"You haven't been absolved of any charges yet, so I advise you to speak sparingly," Ulfric warned. He turned his gaze back to Hrethgir. "Nords don't surrender, Vikkesia. You realize you will face the headsman's axe for this."

 _More unnecessary, posturing death,_ Thorunn thought. _How many lives does it take to say no more?_

Hrethgir laughed bitterly. "Oh, I knew that when I signed my name. Boast about justice and glory all you like, Ulfric. The better of us see right through you, and know the only thing you truly fight for is your own reputation."

Ulfric held her glare for a moment, then looked up to nod at a guard. Vikkesia Hrethgir was dragged away. "What of you? Where did your letter go?" Ulfric demanded of Thongvor.

"How am I supposed to know? I wrote it, I sent it. We all knew the chances of it actually being read by the person it was meant for. Stop this, Ulfric."

"Very well, for now," the king allowed. "You'll reclaim your place as Jarl of Markarth, but you will be watched closely. Unchain him." He watched as the chains were removed and Thongvor stumbled to his feet. "In the meantime, we'll be returning to Solitude to oversee your son's trial. It is far overdue."

"Trial? You still have not let that one go? He has been fighting for you for months now, Ulfric!"

"Many traitors and murderers and men who would be better off beneath an axe fight among my ranks, I suspect. Altair will be put through trial." He turned, and this time he addressed Thorunn. "The Imperials we keep in the cellars are to be put to the axe, as well. No more chances will be taken."

 _How many lives does it take to say no more?_ Altair's trial was to be expected, but this... "You pardoned them, Ulfric. You cannot go back on your word on a whim," Thorunn protested.

"No more chances," Ulfric said simply. Axe in hand, he turned and marched down the staircase.


End file.
